Montana Rose
by jkazzie
Summary: Post Shadow Kissed. Rose Hathaway's life changed forever that day in the caves when the Vampire Academy guardians launched a rescue mission. No one expected what actually happened, least of all Dimitri Belikov. He thought his life was over, and Rose's life was changed forever. Four years later, the two lovers get a second chance when they are reunited. Vampire/Human. OOC.
1. Chapter 1 - Waiting

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

Chapter 1 – Waiting

People scurried around the brightly lit room, setting up equipment and readying supplies. What seemed like an entire squadron of people in drab uniforms ran in and out of the room, each of them eerily silent as they carried out his orders. Some rolled equipment into position along the walls where it could be easily accessed. A few checked and stocked the small refrigerator and cabinets with supplies. Others dressed the table in the middle of the room with crisp white linen. A stack of smaller linens rested on a side table and yet another held neat rows of shiny silver utensils. Slowly, but surely they all finished what they were doing and went to stand at their stations – waiting.

It wouldn't be long now, thought the tall, dark-haired man. He nodded approvingly at his team. They were ready – nervous, but ready.

He knew they were scared, terrified even. Without a doubt, none of the people in the room except one, other than himself, had ever participated in an event quite as serious as this one. He trusted them all – every one of them – after all, he'd trained them well. Hell, he'd had to _retrain_ some of them. Half of the seven people in the room were almost ruined by the half-assed, by-the-book training they'd received.

School was important – he was the first one to agree with that, but nothing replaced on-the-job training – being in the thick of it all; learning by example and from experience. Graduates today – they got very little actual training until they were assigned – it was all study and demonstration, and practicing in controlled environments – and some of them just couldn't take the pressure when they had to put what they'd learned into action in the real world. Those were the ones that never lasted long in this profession and he was glad of it. There was no place for the unpromised in this room.

He was their chief and he was one of the best in the country. He knew it – he'd been told it enumerable times, but even without the accolades of this colleagues and superiors, he would still know it deep down in his gut – he was brilliant at what he did. Some even called him a god. He snickered silently at the title. They thought he didn't know, but he knew everything. This was his domain and nothing much got past him.

He wasn't arrogant like some of you might think – it was just the truth. His entire life, he'd wanted to be what he was. He'd known from the age of five that this was what he was meant for and he'd worked harder than all of his classmates to become the best that he could possibly be. What he did – it was his life, his calling, and his hands were the tools that made him unbeatable, though many had tried.

People had sneered when he told them what he was going to do two years ago, when he resigned from his prestigious job in an east coast city, but sometimes you just had to put yourself and those you loved first. He'd followed her – his beautiful wife and the love of his life, and he didn't regret anything. He was where he was meant to be.

He sighed as he stood by the wall near the double doors, waiting for the phone to ring and give him the update he anticipated. He'd been called back into work thirty minutes ago. He'd been dancing in the middle of his living room, his arms securely around the body of his gorgeous brunette wife as she leaned against his strong chest. Candle light flickered around the cozy room, while country music played on the stereo. She hated the stuff, but listened to it for his sake and he'd fallen a little more in love with her because of it. Sometimes it was the small sacrifices that meant the most. He'd been nuzzling her fragrant hair and thinking of what they could be doing upstairs in their large king-sized bed, when the phone rang.

"Ignore it," she murmured hopefully.

He sighed. "You know I can't," he admonished gently.

"I know." She scowled and bent down to pick up the smart phone from the coffee table where her husband had left it two hours earlier, and handed it to him.

"Hello," he said distractedly, staring at his wife's lush, swaying hips clad in red silk and lace as she sauntered over to the blazing fireplace where the stereo lived and pressed a button, interrupting the romantic ballad crooning through the speakers.

His distraction faded instantly as he listened to the urgent voice on the other end of the phone call. He asked a few salient questions and hung up, already reaching for his car keys and wallet, stuffing them into his pockets.

"You have to go?" she said, knowing the answer already.

He nodded, taking her beautiful face in his hands and kissing her. "Happy anniversary," he said with a small smile.

"Ditto," she said with a trace of bite in her voice.

He half-smiled and stroked her long hair back from her face. "I'm sorry, but duty calls," he said with real regret.

She smiled a little sadly. "I know. I wouldn't love you as much as I did if you ignored your duty despite my begging you to ignore the phone."

"I'll make it up to you," he promised.

"I know – you always do," she agreed. All was forgiven.

He kissed her forehead and released her, his mind already urgently planning. He didn't have much time – perhaps thirty minutes before they arrived.

She walked with her husband to the foyer and helped him on with his coat. Opening the door, she looked out into the dark, snowy night and shivered slightly as a cold breeze blew through the wide opening.

"Do you need me?" she asked.

He thought for a moment and then nodded decisively. "Yes, I think I might," he told her, before filling her in briefly on what he knew, which wasn't much. After promising to follow as soon as she could, he ran through the falling snow to the black SUV parked in the drive. There was an identical one in the garage that she would drive and he was grateful that he'd put chains on her tires earlier that day. Winter had come early to this part of the country as it often did.

Ten minutes later, he strode into the small, but imposing building that was lit up like a Christmas tree, as it always was. The roads were slushy with melting snow and ice, and he was glad they were arriving by helicopter. Staff began scurrying and calling out to each other as he ran into his office and dumped his belongings onto the large desk in front of the window. Pulling a clean uniform from his small closet, he began hurriedly stripping his clothes.

"ETA?" he barked as he strode out of his office into the thick of things.

"Twenty minutes," responded a harried voice.

That ETA was fifteen minutes ago and now they were ready. The phone rang on the wall by the mans head and he answered it calmly. After announcing himself, he listened intently for a few moments, committing everything he was told to memory. He asked a few pertinent questions and looked at his watch.

"We're ready for you," he said, hanging up.

He clapped his hands to catch his team's attention, though it was unnecessary. They were waiting for his commands. "Okay, everyone, listen up. They are five minutes out and approaching from the west."

"You come with me," he said to two of his most experienced and trusted team members. "The rest of you wait here. Let's go!" he ordered as he ran from the room.

He could hear the sound of the chopper as it approached the building and he skidded to a stop just outside the automatic sliding doors as he watched the large red machine hover over the snow covered lawn – it doubled as a landing pad in times of emergency.

The door of the helicopter slid open as the blades slowed and he and his team ran forward. A man in a dark uniform jumped out and reached into the belly to help another man deliver their precious cargo.

"How is she?" he yelled as he looked down at her. She looked to be about 18 years old.

"Not good," the elder of the two men said. "We nearly lost her twice."

The flight paramedic reeled off vital statistics, as the five of them hurried into the small regional hospital, surrounding the girl on a gurney who was fighting for her life. Some of the stats hadn't changed from five minutes ago when the medic relayed them to the trauma surgeon over the phone, but some were worse.

Her injuries were horrific and she was covered in blood-soaked bandages that didn't do anything to staunch the flow from wounds too numerous to count. It was a miracle she was still alive. He knew that if she survived, her life would never be the same.

The team raced along the brightly lit hallway and into the prepped trauma room.

"One, two, three," someone said, and they all worked as one unit to move the young woman from the gurney to the linen covered trauma bed. Immediately, the medical staff began hooking her up to machines, while others changed bags of fluids and checked vital signs. The doctor called out instructions and orders for tests as he approached her, while the paramedics answered his rapid-fire questions.

"What's her name, do you know?" the doctor asked, just as the heart monitor began to whine its high pitched warning sound that no medical professional ever wanted to hear.

"She's crashing!" yelled the senior ER nurse.

"Rosa. She said her name was Rosa," the doctor heard as he went to work trying to save her.

…

A/N: Please review.

I don't know how long this story will be. I kind of know where I want to go with it and I can tell you that it is a vampire/human story, but my Rosa/Rose is probably not going to be the badass guardian to Lissa that most people write about. This is a Rosa that had to put herself first through no fault of her own. Dimitri _will_ be in the story as will other VA characters, but Rose's chosen career as a guardian is over. She may be a dhampir who heals quickly, but even dhampirs aren't invincible. Even for them, there is a middle ground between fully able bodied and dead if their injuries are severe enough and they don't have a spirit user around to heal them.

To readers of my other stories, I have not abandoned them, but I haven't been quite been myself this past year. I haven't wanted to write at all, and it's been really hard to break the habit once I fell into it. Instead, I've been working on my family tree in my free time and now I'm getting the writing bug back. I hope that after I write a few chapters of this new story, that I will be in a better frame of mind to begin writing again for my other stories, especially Wrecked with Bella. I know I owe you all a chapter and thank you to those of you who have PM'd me to ask how I was. I'm sorry I haven't responded, but I haven't even logged onto FFN since posting earlier this year.


	2. Chapter 2 - Grief

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the original author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

Chapter 2 – Grief

Dimitri's POV

"_I love you, Comrade."_

It was the last thing she'd whispered to me during a brief private moment before we entered the caves. After that, we were both too focused on our mission – rescue the victims as quickly as possible and keep ourselves alive.

We'd succeeded – for the most part. We only lost one of the victims of the thirteen taken during the strigoi attack on the academy. He was a young moroi student – unfortunately drained as a snack. His nearly naked body had been riddled with what seemed like hundreds of puncture marks where savage strigoi fangs had pierced and ripped at his pale skin. Alberta asked me to inform his parents, but I couldn't. I couldn't do anything but stare off into space wondering what the hell had gone wrong.

She was _supposed_ to be outside the caves. She was _supposed_ to be part of the exterior defense in case the strigoi got past the first wave of guardians that went inside the caves. I never wanted her to be there with us in the first place, putting her life in danger, but she'd insisted she could help and for once in her short life, her mother Janine Hathaway had been on her side. Janine argued valiantly to allow the senior novices and moroi teachers to help with the rescue. Alberta had been wary, but cautiously agreed with conditions that were supposed to keep the novices as safe as possible. Rose had squeezed her mother's hand in thanks and they'd smiled wanly at each other. The one and only time they agreed on anything had led to the biggest tragedy in my life.

I felt real hatred for Janine Hathaway in that agonizing moment outside the cave entrance just before sunset, when we realized that of the six guardians we had lost during the battle, my beautiful Roza had been one of them. I wanted to go back in, but Janine and Alberta wouldn't let me. It took four guardians to hold me back from running into the caves to retrieve Roza and in the end Janine Hathaway pulled her arm back and punched me in the face, knocking me unconscious.

The last view I had of Rose was imprinted on my retinas and it kept replaying in my mind as a macabre reminder that I knew would stay with me forever – her limp and broken body being dragged back into the caves by a blond haired strigoi male who smirked at me cruelly.

"_Adios, Belikov," he'd yelled. "I'll be sure to send her after you once she's one of us."_

Standing up from my crouch against the brick wall of the chapel where I'd been wallowing in my misery, I punched the wall, shattering two knuckles in the process. I kept punching, ignoring the pain – the only sensation I'd felt for two days, until my hand was bruised, bloody and swollen.

She was gone, as good as dead. When Alberta and I had sneaked off to return to the caves the next day during the daylight hours, the caves were empty of living strigoi. All of the remaining strigoi had left and there was no sign of Rose. If she was still alive, she wouldn't be for long. I'd have to go after her and kill her. We'd promised each other that should the unthinkable happen, the survivor would end the sorry existence forced upon the victim. I wondered whether I could do it.

Could I hunt and kill the love of my life?

Could I look into the red-rimmed eyes of the truly evil being that my Roza would surely become and stake her unbeating heart?

I fell to my knees on the soggy grass by the wall of the chapel. My blood dripped down the brickwork, blending with the rusty red of the centuries old masonry, becoming one with the holy building. I let the tears fall – deep, agonizing sobs of grief from deep inside me. I felt my entire body being consumed with heartache and anguish for what I'd lost. I cried until my head pounded and I could barely breathe as my chest heaved.

When my senses returned to me, the sun was low in the sky and I was lying face down on the wet grass, mud clinging to my clothes, face and hands. I'd been vaguely aware of being approached by others – novices, a few moroi teachers and guardians, but no one dared disturb me – except one and she sat on the grass a few feet away from me and cried her own tears of loss and misery.

I had my answer. Yes, I could and I would end Rose Hathaway if she was strigoi. It would kill my soul to do it, but I would keep my promise to her. And when it was over – when the horrible, but necessary deed was done, I would turn my stake on myself and end my own lonely misery. The thought of being with her again in the afterlife gave me the strength of mind to do what I needed to do.

Bracing my hands in the mud, I groaned as pain lashed through my mangled hand. Ignoring the throbbing, I pushed my body up until I was on my knees and wiped the mud and water away from my face with my undamaged hand. I looked over to the woman sitting on the grass. She was composed, but the evidence of her own grief was apparent in the tear tracks that had dried on her cheeks.

"You loved her," she said quietly, her voice husky. "More than that – you were _in_ love with her."

I nodded as I stood up, swaying slightly on unsteady legs. I reached out to brace myself against the chapel wall, cringing as my injured hand connected with the unrelenting masonry.

"Yes," I croaked.

"You're going after her?"

"Yes, I am," I told Janine Hathaway. "I won't let her exist as strigoi. She hated them – she would never want to be allowed to live as one."

"I know," she sniffled. "Tell her … tell her I l-loved her before you do it," she begged. "I never got the chance to tell her," she admitted sadly. "She probably wouldn't have believed me anyway," she whispered.

"I'll tell her."

"Are you coming back?" she asked me curiously.

I paused for a moment and then shook my head. "No. There are a few things I need to take care of first." I swallowed hard past the lump in my throat. "I need to see my family and then I'll start searching, but I won't be back." The face of her murderer was the other image imprinted on my brain – it was photo perfect and I would never, ever forget his face if it took me until I was old and gray to end him. He was who would lead me to my Roza and I was already planning my strategy for tracking him down, and when I found him, I would kill him. He knew my name, which meant he knew someone who knew me or knew of me before they were turned. I could think of only one person in Montana that might be that person – Ms Sonya Karp.

Janine nodded and then she did something I never expected. She stepped up to me and put her arms around me, hugging my tightly.

"Good luck, Dimitri Belikov. I'm glad Rose had you in her life. I may not have spent much time with her, but even I could see that you made her happy, and for that, I thank you." She sniffled and pulled back; wiping her eyes, before setting her unemotional guardian face into place. "Get that hand seen to," she ordered, "and let me know before you leave."

"I will."

We walked silently toward the courtyard where we would part ways – me toward the infirmary and Janine to guest quarters. As soon as my hand was taken care of, I planned to call my mother and ask her to meet me in Novosibirsk with the rest of my family. I didn't have time to visit Baia if I was to get on the trail of Rose and her strigoi murderer.

"What will you do now?" I asked Janine quietly.

She faltered slightly and whispered, "I need to call Rose's father. He deserves to know what happened."

I paused and took hold of Janine's arm to halt her forward movement. There was something I needed to know. There was something else I wanted to tell Roza before I killed her and the only person who knew the truth was standing right beside me.

"Who was he, Janine?" I asked her urgently.

"What?" she gasped. "What type of question is that to ask me?" she demanded angrily.

"Rose always wanted to know who he was, but she said you refused to discuss him. She deserves to know before she dies."

Janine broke. "She's already dead!" she screamed at me. "What difference does it make now?"

"It will make all the difference to her!" I snapped. "No matter what she becomes, there will always be a part of her that is my Roza and she wanted to know about her father." I gripped her arms tightly and shook her, my broken hand protesting intensely.

"Tell me!" I yelled at her, my Russian accent thickening.

Janine sobbed once and then her face tightened into the cold guardian mask she always wore.

"Mazur. His name is Ibrahim Mazur," she said matter-of-factly.

My eyes widened. "Zmey," I breathed with disbelief. Janine looked startled, and turned her face away quickly, but I'd seen the look in her eyes.

"Are you happy now? You know his name and you can tell Rose, but it's not like it will mean anything to her," Janine spat. "She doesn't know anything about him or the type of person he is."

"No, but I do," I murmured coldly. What I didn't say was how it was Janine's fault that Rose didn't know her father.

"And how are you going to tell her? What? Are you going to pin her down and have a little heart-to-heart before you stake her? Don't be stupid, Dimitri! You trained her and you know how strong she'll be as strigoi. You'll be lucky to stake her without losing your own life in the process."

"I said I wasn't coming back, Janine. I didn't say I planned to survive my final battle. I _will_ capture her and restrain her long enough to speak with her. It won't be for long, but it will be long enough – I'll make sure of it."

She stared at me coldly before nodding her acceptance. Janine wrenched herself from my weakening grip, and we continued walking in the direction of guest housing. The churning silence was almost unbearable.

"What do you know of Abe, anyway?" Janine asked me curiously when we stopped in front of her building. I flinched, having grown accustomed to the cold silence. She'd spent the time grappling with the fact that Ibrahim Mazur, otherwise known as Zmey, was not a stranger to me.

"Enough," I said. "Most of it isn't good, but I know he can't be all bad if you loved him enough to bring Rose into the world."

"Who said anything about being in love?" Janine said scornfully as she strode away from me, effectively ending our conversation.

I was beginning to understand why Rose's relationship with her mother had been so troubled. Janine Hathaway was a bundle of contradictions – one moment sad and almost maternal, and the next, emotionless and cold or angry. I thought Rose had been tough to get a handle on, but she was nothing compared to her mother. I shook my head – I now knew from whom Rose got her attitude. But her hair, eyes, and olive skin tones she'd obviously inherited from her father. The Turkish mobster struck fear into the hearts of everyone who knew him – almost as much as the strigoi, and even I wouldn't cross Zmey, but I was beginning to believe that he couldn't be all bad. After all, he'd sired Rose and she was the best thing that had ever happened to me.

…

Three hours later, I was on my way to the moroi dormitory to see Rose's friends. A light snow had begun to fall and I shivered slightly in the darkness. The time was the nearing the middle of the moroi day and most of the students would be in class, but I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye and telling them what I planned to do – they deserved to hear it from me. Earlier, I had arranged with Alberta to assign another guardian to Vasilisa Dragomir, and I told Alberta what I was planning to do. She wasn't surprised by my decision and didn't try to talk me out of it. Instead, she wished me luck and expressed her condolences. Somehow, she'd known what was happening between Rose and I, and she'd quietly supported it.

I headed up the stairs to my charge, Vasilisa's room. Alberta had told me that she was too distraught to attend classes and it was decided to allow her time to properly grieve for her friend and bonded sister. I hoped Adrian Ivashkov would be with Princess Dragomir and Lord Ozera. I didn't like the man, but I knew that Rose had an inexplicable soft spot for the playboy drunk. As I reached the landing on the fourth floor where the Princess' room was, I heard hysterical crying and I ran down the hallway in the direction of the sobbing.

The door to her room was open and when I stepped into the aperture, the princess was on the bed sobbing in the arms of her boyfriend Christian Ozera. Adrian Ivashkov stood by the window with clenched fists, tears streaming down his pale face.

"What's wrong? What happened?" I asked urgently. I might not be Vasilisa's guardian anymore, but that didn't mean I no longer cared.

Christian looked up at me, his own eyes glassy with unshed tears. "Come in and close the door," he instructed quietly.

I did as he asked and walked over to the bed. Christian noticed my bandaged hand, but he didn't ask. I think he realized it had been my way of dealing with what happened.

"What's wrong?" I asked again.

"Lissa woke up screaming a few minutes ago." He paused and looked me in the eye. "She said the bond broke," he told me reluctantly. "Rose is dead."

I felt my heart breaking all over again and I shuddered.

"Or strigoi," Christian added.

All of my hope fled.

…

AN: Please read and review.

I do not advocate suicide and Dimitri's decision to join Roza in death should be seen as him expressing his grief in a weak moment. I'm not saying he would ever actually do it, because it's not something that Rose would ever want or approve of.

Btw: Dimitri will refer to Rose as Roza spelled with a 'z' because that's the Russian version of her nickname; however, everyone else in Rose's new life will refer to Rose as Rosa spelled with an 's' since most English speaking people (where English is their first language) would interpret Rosa to be a nickname of Rose in the Anglo-English sense.


	3. Chapter 3 - Coma

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the original author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

Chapter 3 – Coma

Doctor Nicholas Dillard walked down the corridor of North Valley Hospital to his favorite patient's room. Rosa had been a guest at the state-of-the-art hospital in Whitefish, Montana for three months and still she hadn't woken up from the coma she'd lapsed into. At first, she was placed into a medically induced coma to aid her healing from the severe injuries she was admitted with, but when they'd weaned her off the drugs keeping her asleep, she kept on sleeping.

Six weeks ago, the hospital administrators wanted to move Rosa to a state run hospital in Helena when she failed to wake up, but Nicholas wouldn't allow it. He was Chief of Surgery at the hospital and if they wanted him to continue in the role, they would accede to his wishes on this matter. He and his wife Bridget made a deal with the administrators to pay the crushing medical bills out of their own pockets. For some reason, Rosa touched their hearts and neither could bear the thought of the young woman being consigned to a cold and soulless institution.

He walked into the private room and smiled as he saw his wife Bridget sitting by the bed in which laid the beautiful young woman. A beam of weak winter sunlight shone through the windows, glinting off their almost identical brunette hair. Bridget's hair was long and wavy reaching almost to her waist, as Rosa's hair had been, before they'd had to shave it off to perform the life saving brain surgery. Now, it was only an inch long and it laid flat against her scalp, helped along by some of Bridget's hair products. She'd once said that no woman wanted to be seen with hair sticking out all over the place. Nicholas had just laughed and left them alone in their one-sided bond.

It was uncanny how similar in appearance the two women were. They could have been mother and daughter, and yet they shared no familial DNA. Nicholas knew that because he'd had them tested wondering if Rosa might have been a long-lost cousin of Bridget's, but the tests were negative. It didn't matter that the two women weren't related, because Bridget treated Rosa like a little sister. Bridget came every day to sit by Rosa's bed. She read to her from contemporary novels and from magazines that young women of Rosa's generation seemed to enjoy. They watched soap operas together on the flat screen television mounted on the wall opposite the bed – or rather Bridget watched while narrating the storyline faithfully so that Rosa would know what was going on.

He'd come into the room one day about a month ago to find Bridget giving Rosa a facial and on another day, she'd given Rosa a mani-pedi, painting her toenails bright red and her fingernails with a clear varnish. When Nicholas asked her why, she'd said that painting her toenails red always made her feel better and she'd figured it might do the same for Rosa.

"How is she today?" Nicholas asked, picking up Rosa's chart from the end of her bed.

"The same," Bridget said sadly, "but she's been dreaming a lot more," she added happily. We both watched Rosa's eyes move rapidly under her tightly closed lids.

"That's good news – it means her brain is more active," he confirmed, though he didn't need to tell Bridget that – she was an orthopedic surgeon and had also operated on Rosa. "I think it might be time for another brain CT scan. I'll email the images to Rolfe in New York – see what he thinks," Nicholas told Bridget.

"Is he coming back to see her?" she asked.

"Yes, he said he would if her condition deteriorated or when she wakes up."

Rolfe Antonov was the neurosurgeon who had flown in at Nicholas's request to perform the life saving brain surgery on Rosa three months ago. Nicholas was brilliant in his field of expertise, which was cardio-thoracic surgery, but he was no neurosurgeon. He'd called in a favor and Rolfe had left New York for Montana the next morning. The day after, Rosa was in surgery for the third time in as many days. It would take another four surgeries before all of her injuries had been dealt with and she could be left alone to heal.

Nicholas made a few notations on Rosa's chart and returned it to the foot of the bed. He held his hand out to Bridget.

"Come on my love, I'll take you to lunch in the cafeteria and we can go over Rosa's case notes while we eat."

"A man after my own heart – lunch with my husband in the hospital cafeteria. How am I to refuse such a stellar invitation," she said playfully.

Nicholas grinned knowing very well that despite the sometimes questionable quality of the hospital cafeteria's food, that Bridget loved food above all else, except maybe him and Rosa, and she would never turn down an opportunity to eat.

They left Rosa's room and stopped by his office for the case notes, and gave instructions to the head nurse on duty to send Rosa for a CT scan as soon as the machine was free. When they were sitting at a large table with soup, salad and roast beef sandwiches in front of them, Nicholas opened the thick file labeled _"Rosa X"_ and silently read down the list of injuries on the front page. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking that this was the file of a person who was seventy or eighty years old, rather than a girl who was barely 18. He pulled a pen from his coat pocket and he and Bridget began updating the case notes.

When Nicholas had first seen Rosa when she was admitted, he'd focused on getting her heart started for the first five minutes, and when she'd stabilized, he'd been able to examine her and get a handle on the extent of her injuries. He'd been told she was the only survivor of a fiery car crash, which occurred about fifty miles southwest of Whitefish, but her injuries weren't caused by a car crash – well, not all of them anyway. Most of her injuries were at least one to two days old and appeared to be inflicted by one or more persons of great strength. The bruises all over her body in the shape of boot and fist marks confirmed his theory.

The internal injury that nearly killed her, which probably did occur during the car accident, was the small aortic tear that caused her chest cavity to fill with blood – she'd almost bled out before he could get her into surgery to repair the vital artery. It had taken over eight hours to repair the damage to her heart, lungs and kidney, and to remove her ruptured spleen. Due to the delicate nature of the surgery, they'd had no choice but to simply immobilize her broken bones and take her back into theater the next day. That first orthopedic surgery lasted only long enough to straighten out the compound fractures in her legs, arms and collar bone. The fractures to her pelvis, ribs, jaw, cheekbone and eye socket had to wait until she was more stable. The damage gave her face a lopsided sunken appearance despite the extensive bruising. Surprisingly, she still had all her teeth, though her lips were bloody and swollen.

What was most surprising to the medical team in charge of Rosa's health was the news from the lab that she was pregnant. Barely pregnant – only a few days, but pregnant none the less. Miraculously, there was little or no damage to her womb and the baby held on, despite the stress on its mother's body. The news had meant that they couldn't use X-Rays to explore her injuries, so they used a combination of CT and MRI. Neither technology was ideal for the developing fetus, but Rosa's health was his first priority.

The third day of Rosa's tenancy in the hospital saw her back in the operating room with Rolfe Antonov at the helm performing delicate surgery to relieve the pressure building up in her head from the multiple hematomas that had formed between her brain and her skull. They were caused by severe trauma as evidenced by the many fractures over her skull that made it look like a road map in the CT images.

What was truly amazing to Rosa's team of doctors was how quickly her body recovered once the damage had been repaired. Her bones had knitted twice as quickly as would have been expected and the bruising and swelling covering most of her body began to subside within days. Her pregnancy held on and Nicholas sometimes thought that she wasn't quite human – but that was impossible of course, despite the two odd DNA sequences found in her blood work. They'd run her DNA through the national database – the sheriff insisted on it, since they didn't know who she was, but there were no matches. She was, for all intents and purposes, a living Jane Doe.

Just as they were finishing up their lunch and notes, Nicholas's phone beeped from his pocket warning of a text message. He read the missive, never expecting it to say what it did, and he bolted up from the table.

_Rosa X is awake!_

…

A/N: Please review, so I know people are interested.

I am not a medical professional, so I'm not going to dwell too much longer on Rosa's injuries. Just know that they were severe enough that no normal person could have survived. But Rosa isn't normal, is she, and Doctor Nicholas Dillard already suspects that there is something different about his patient.


	4. Chapter 4 - Awake

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

Chapter 4 – Awake

Rosa's POV

I woke up instantly.

There was no slow journey to wakefulness to ease the transition; no remnants of a fading dream; no irritating sense of being too hot or too cold; no urgent need to urinate as is often the cause of waking suddenly from a deep sleep – nothing at all.

One moment I was asleep and the next I wasn't.

I blinked furiously trying to clear my vision, which was decidedly blurry despite the sun shining brightly into the room. An irritating beep beep beep sounded from somewhere to my right, and I felt as if an overwhelming lethargy had overtaken my body. I tried moving my fingers and toes, but either movement seemed to take more energy than I could access. Every part of me felt stiff and achy; I had a headache that just wouldn't quit, and an intense sensation of nausea roiling in my gut.

I'll just close my eyes and rest for a moment, I thought.

_Was I dead?_ I didn't think so. I'd never been dead before as far as I could tell, so I had no point of reference, but I'm pretty sure that death – well, the afterlife in Heaven – shouldn't hurt.

Maybe I was in _Hell_.

My eyes flew open in fear, blinking rapidly to clear the persistent blurriness obscuring my vision. White walls, white ceiling, white bed, red roses by the window. It didn't look like Hell. I tried lifting my arm to rub the crustiness of sleep from around the rims, but no matter how much I commanded my arm to move toward my face, I couldn't seem to make it obey. A hoarse sob of frustration sounded from my arid mouth – it was so dry, like I hadn't had a drink in months.

Everything hurts, my thoughts repeated. Rambling questions addled my weary, pain riddled brain and I felt a strong compulsion to just let it all go – like a really bad dream – and return to sleep. I closed my eyes and felt myself drifting away, back into the darkness …

_No! Don't let go – not yet, not yet, I chanted silently. _

My eyes flew open again in panic.

_Think! Think!_

_What happened? Why do I hurt? Where am I? Who am I? _

_Who am I? Why can't I remember my own name?_

All of my questions began shuffling on repeat barely allowing me a chance to contemplate the answer to one question before another was asked.

_Who am I? Where am I? What happened? Where am I? Who am I? Where am I? Who am I? Who AM I? WHO AM I!?_

I wanted to scream, and then I was.

Hands were touching me – holding me down, hurting me! _Stop it!_ STOP IT! I _need_ to get away! I struggled against the hands that held me, not letting me escape. _LEAVE ME ALONE!_ I screamed as tears flowed down my face. I begged and begged, but they didn't listen.

Debilitating fear leeched into my every cell, inching along my bloodstream. My chest heaved as I tried and failed to inhale enough oxygen to calm the fear that was consuming me. It grew and grew into a monster I couldn't see and didn't know how to fight until the sensation coalesced and I felt my heart clench painfully. My body arched off the bed of its own volition and my right arm pulled up reflexively to clutch between my breasts. I vaguely noticed the tubes attached to my arm and the clothes pin on my finger – _why is there a clothes pin on my finger_?

A hand reached up above my head and did something to the tube. It was a needle. _Oh._ I'm glad they didn't stick me with the needle – I don't like needles … and then a surreal calmness replaced the fear. I heard the irritatingly loud and frequent beeping noise fade as I seemed to move away, and then there was nothing but warmth and floating …

_Oh! This is it. This is what it feels like to die._

_I smiled._

* * *

When next I floated back to consciousness, the room was dimly lit by low lamplight and an older and wiser version of me was leaning over my body looking into my eyes. She said her name was Bridget and she stroked my forehead gently, whispering all the while that everything would be okay.

I so _wanted_ to believe her.

I sighed and drifted back to oblivion.

* * *

I was dreaming.

I was surrounded by a crowd of people who laughed and teased and gently nudged my shoulders when I said something funny. I couldn't hear what they were saying and I couldn't really see their faces, but I knew they were my friends.

A young blond woman cuddled securely in the arms of a young man with short dark hair. He swayed her slowly to and fro within the security of his arms as she chattered away to me and another man – older than the rest of us, but pale like them, tall with artlessly arranged short brown hair. His face was turned to mine, and he urged me towards him with an outstretched arm.

I shook my head, my attention on another man in the room. He stood out above all others. It might have been his height – he towered over every other person standing in the cozy room full of dusty old books. Cobwebs drifting down from the rafters floated onto his hair and he lifted a long arm clad in dark brown leather to brush away the sticky irritation. I was drawn to him, almost tethered to him by some invisible thread, and I found myself ignoring the inviting hand of the other faceless man.

'_It's him. It'll always be him," I told the faceless man softly. He smiled sadly and nodded, dropping his arm._

I giggled and strutted over to Mr Tall and Big, stretching up on my toes to comb my fingers through his shoulder length brown hair. It felt like the softest silk and he smelled divine – a woodsy scent mixed with a touch of spice and citrus. He leaned down and his lips ghosted against mine.

'_I love you,' he said._

'_I love you, too,' I replied. 'Always.'_

A sudden loud noise broke my concentration and the dream faded as I woke briefly. I tear slipped down my cheek for what I'd lost.

I'd been so happy.

* * *

The next time I woke up, it was daylight again and a tall, dark haired man in a white coat was standing at the foot of my bed writing notes on a clipboard. He was handsome – for an older man – I figured he was somewhere in his late thirties if the crinkles around his blue eyes and the strands of gray at his temples were anything to go by – or it could have been the persistent blurry vision playing tricks on my mind.

"H-hello," I croaked.

His head shot up and he smiled widely as he approached my right side cautiously. He placed the clipboard on the bedside table and sat in the chair by my side. I watched him curiously, wondering who he was.

"Hello, Rosa. My name's Doctor Nicholas Dillard."

I swallowed past the dry lump in my throat. "Hi," I croaked out. I was so thirsty.

"Th-thirsty," I managed to convey, lifting my hand to my throat. I felt as weak as a kitten.

The doctor stood up and reached for a cup of ice chips on the narrow table positioned across the foot of the bed. Using a remote on a cord he pressed a button and the head of the bed I was reclining on slowly began to elevate me into a sitting position. He offered me a tiny ice chip on a spoon and I debated whether I should trust this strange man, but in the end my thirst won out and I opened my mouth to accept the offering.

"I can't give you much," he said apologetically. "You have a feeding tube inserted. It's not going to allow much else to get past, other than a little water."

I frowned and felt a twinge in my face. "Why?"

His brow crinkled. "Why the feeding tube?"

"Yes."

"We had to keep you fed and watered somehow while we waited for you to wake up." He grinned playfully.

_Wake up? How long was I asleep for and where was I? _

I looked slowly around the room curiously. It was a hospital room.

"I'm sure you have many questions and I have just as many I need to ask you, but we need to take it slowly," the doctor cautioned. "You're not quite with us all the way yet."

I frowned and felt the twinge again around my eye and cheek. My hand reached weakly toward my face to rub the small cramp away. I expected to find smooth skin, but what my fingers found were fine scars running along my cheekbone, around my eye and up into my hairline.

I looked at my fingertips and then at the doctor, an unasked question in my eyes.

He sighed. He obviously hadn't wanted to get into explanations at the moment, but my exploration demanded answers.

"Your face was injured," he told me. "Your cheekbone and eye socket were badly fractured."

I blinked, trying to remember. "How?"

"You don't remember?"

I thought for a moment, and then shook my head slowly.

"You were … in an accident," the doctor said.

Something was off about his explanation as if he'd left something important out.

"What type of accident?" I rasped. My mouth was dry again.

"A car crash."

I tried to remember being in a car that might have been in an accident, but I couldn't remember. I couldn't actually remember ever being in any car, yet I knew what a car was. I even recalled that I knew how to drive, but I couldn't remember driving.

"I don't remember," I said finally, feeling weary. Trying to remember was exhausting. "My head hurts. So tired," I whispered.

The doctor nodded. "Sleep now – we'll talk again later." He walked over to the window to close the blinds, plunging the room into dimness and I closed my eyes.

I was asleep before he left the room.

* * *

"C'mon, Rosa, three more knee bends on this leg and then we're done," cajoled a sweet, but firm voice.

My eyes fluttered open and I blinked sleepily at the gorgeous woman who was hell bent on making me exercise when all I wanted to do was sleep. I groaned.

She smiled and looked up. "Welcome back," she said. "I'm Bridget. You met my husband yesterday."

Her husband?

I must have looked confused, because she clarified. "Doctor Nicholas Dillard. Do you remember meeting him?"

I concentrated hard, trying to remember meeting a doctor, but thinking too hard made my head hurt. I looked around the room – a hospital room. I remembered this. Searching my immediate environment, I comprehended the bed I was lying in, the open blinds at a large picture window, and the sun shining brightly, melting the blue-white icicles hanging off tree branches outside the window.

Ice.

I remembered a man give me some ice to suck on because I was thirsty.

"He gave me ice," I said at last.

She smiled delightedly. "Yes. Oh, I'm glad you remember – that's a good sign."

It is? Why?

"Why?"

"Do you remember what Nicholas told you about the …"

"Accident," we said in unison. I noticed she didn't actually answer my question.

I rubbed my aching head. Why wouldn't this headache go away? "My head hurts," I told Bridget.

"I know it does, Honey. I'll call Nicholas and we'll get you something for the pain. Try to stay awake for as long as you can, okay. The longer you remain conscious each time, the quicker you'll recover." She pressed a button on the remote laying on the bed and I caught sight of the pink insulated cup that had held the ice chips.

I was so thirsty.

"How long have I been asleep," I asked her as I tried to reach out to grasp the cup. Nearly. I stretched a little more. Nearly … nearly. Yes! I managed to catch hold of the cup with a bent finger and drag it toward me.

Bridget rushed to assist me. "Here, let me help you. She took hold of the cup and lifted out the spoon holding a coveted ice chip. I opened my mouth eagerly as she offered it to me and I savored the pure taste as it moistened my arid mouth and throat.

"You've been asleep for about four months," she told me solemnly.

I gasped and looked up at her wide-eyed. "No, that's not possible," I denied, shaking my head.

Bridget sat on the chair by my bed where Nicholas – her husband she'd said – had sat yesterday. She took my hand in hers and squeezed gently.

"It's true, Rosa. You were asleep for four months – a coma we call it. You began to wake up about a month ago. You'd have moments of lucidity where you were calm and other times when you'd be fearful or angry. Sometimes you were awake for an hour or so, and other times it was a few minutes or mere seconds and then you'd sleep again."

I lay back against the pillows and shook my head in denial. How could I not remember any of that? Well, duh! You were asleep, Rosa. Of course you wouldn't remember. Rosa … Rosa … Rosa. Why did that name seem so familiar and yet so strange to me at the same time.

I swallowed. "Um, is Rosa my name?"

"You don't remember?" Bridget asked worriedly as the door open and a tall man in a white coat entered the room.

"Good morning," he greeted jovially. He bent down to kiss Bridget on the lips and he took my hand in his. "I'm Nicholas Dillard – we met yesterday."

I nodded. "I remember."

Bridget stood up. "I was just explaining to Rosa how she's been asleep for a long time. She remembers meeting you yesterday, but not anything else since she's been with us," she elaborated. "She asked about her name."

"Ah. What do you remember about your life, Rosa?" the doctor asked gently. He stared at me intently. "Take your time – don't try to force it."

Despite him telling me not to, I thought hard about my past, but nothing significant came to mind. I knew that I knew things like how to drive, walk, read and feed myself. I knew what I looked like. I knew I was in a hospital and I knew that I hurt and I felt weak, but I didn't _know_ anything else.

I sniffed as a tear escaped from each eye. "I-I don't remember. Why can't I remember!?"

"Calm down, Rosa," Bridget encouraged, stroking my forehead. "You're still recovering from some serious head injuries. A period of confusion is not unexpected."

"How am I supposed to calm down!?" I yelled, but it came out sounding like a loud whisper. "I can't remember anything about my life. I don't even know my own name!"

"Your name is Rosa," Nicholas stated.

His voice was so authoritative, I felt compelled to believe him. "Rosa what?" I squeaked.

He paused for a moment before reluctantly saying, "We don't know. When you were brought in, we were only told you said your name was Rosa. That's all anyone knows about you."

My mouth wobbled. "Has no one come looking for me?"

Bridget and Nicholas stared at each other for long moments before Nicholas nodded at her. Bridget took a deep breath and looked me in the eye.

"No one has come forth to claim you. The sheriff says you're not listed on any missing person or teen runaway lists, and your DNA wasn't on file. The car you were found in was stolen, but you weren't the driver. There were no other survivors of the crash and they weren't identifiable."

I gulped. "They?" How many other victims of the crash were there and why was I riding in a stolen vehicle?

"There were two other people in the vehicle – both sitting in the front seat. Both were males, but they were decap … um … killed instantly when they were thrown from the vehicle. Unfortunately, there was a fire after the collision and their bodies were burned beyond all recognition. You were found in the trunk of the vehicle."

Decap – she was going to say decapitated. I felt an overwhelming urge to vomit and although I heaved, nothing happened. Bridget leaned over me and rubbed my midriff.

"Shssh," she murmured. "It will pass. Try to calm your breathing and listen to my voice," she soothed. "Shssh," she kept saying, all the while rubbing my stomach and hugging me to her. "It's going to be alright, I promise."

She kept holding me until I calmed and slipped back into a healing sleep.

* * *

After that day, each time I woke up, I was able to stay awake for longer periods.

Sometimes I slept for only a few hours and other times I slept for an entire day before waking again. I remembered the conversations I had with Nicholas and Bridget and sometimes with the nurses that bustled in and out of my room. I remembered the physiotherapist, Tyrone who came twice a day to torture me and I remembered by the end of the fifth month, when they removed the nasal feeding tube so I could eat actual food for the first time in months.

The sensation of the stiff, but flexible tube being dragged out of my stomach, along my gullet and out through my nostril was the absolute creepiest, snakiest sensation I'd ever felt. I shuddered every time I thought about it. As soon as I wasn't receiving nutritional supplements by artificial means, my stomach reminded me that I was hungry, grumbling loudly. Bridget and Nicholas laughed and he picked up the phone by my bed to order some food. He warned me that my stomach wouldn't be able to cope with much at first, but that didn't stop me craving a big juicy steak and fries. What I got was pureed vegetable soup, custard and jello. Yuk.

They removed the catheter in my bladder and got me out of bed, walking slowly to the ensuite bathroom so I could use the toilet and shower with Bridget's help. That was the last time the nurses were able to get me into an adult diaper to catch the poop – yeah – being in a coma isn't all about sleeping. When I woke up there were many indignities I had to face. The authors of Snow White and Sleeping Beauty neglected to mention those parts in their fairy tales. None of it was fun. I refused to wear the diaper again until I was in my dotage, bedridden and senile. I yelled at the stupid nurse who insisted and threw my ice cup at her until she left the room in a huff to get Nicholas. He overruled her and said I could go it alone as long as there were no accidents. I made sure not to wait until I was desperate for the toilet before shuffling into the bathroom.

Nicholas and Bridget told me about my injuries and my expected recovery – I would probably walk with a slight limp due to the right leg that had been broken in three places - not to mention the fractured pelvis. They said I'd have to wear eye glasses because my left eye had been damaged when the eye socket was broken – that explained the blurry vision. An optometrist visited the hospital and he outfitted me with a pair of really trendy eye glasses with one clear glass lens and one prescription lens – and I could see again. Yay!

They told me about the seven operations I'd had in my first month at the hospital and they explained that my amnesia was a common outcome following severe head trauma and a long period of being comatose. Another doctor, a Rolfe Antonov who hailed from New York came to see me and he sent me for a CT scan to find out what was going on with my brain. He told me the spots on my brain were affecting my memory center. When I pushed, he admitted that my memory might not come back and he gave me a permanent prescription for anti-seizure medication because the damage to my brain might cause epileptic fits – I'd apparently already had two while in the coma. I didn't remember them.

They told me I was pregnant.

I was shocked to hear that news and when I found out, I wondered fearfully if I had been assaulted since I'd been found in the trunk of a stolen car with two unidentified men. Nicholas assured me that in his opinion, nothing like that had happened. Although I had been physically assaulted – the cause of most of my injuries – there was no physical evidence that I had been forced. I cried tears of relief that I wouldn't have to tell my baby that her father likely kidnapped me, beat me until I nearly died and then died himself in a fiery crash in a stolen car.

I stroked the form of my baby in the ultrasound photograph – her first baby picture.

Oh, yeah – I was having a girl and she was perfect.

…

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review.

My research indicates that a person does not just wake instantly from a coma – it is a gradual process that may take weeks and the degree of recovery depends on the injury that caused the coma in the first place. Since no one wants to read through 6 or 7 chapters about Rosa's gradual road to wakefulness, I decided that the weeks would pass in one chapter. Her recovery post coma will be explained in flashback explanations. Dimitri and Rosa will be reunited in 3 or 4 chapters' time, 7 years after she wakes up, so bear with me while we get there and I set up the rest of the story for why and how they are being reunited.


	5. Chapter 5 - Searching

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

AN: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and added _Montana Rose_ to their favorites and follows. I appreciate the support. This chapter is from Dimitri's POV and he tells you how he feels and what he's been doing since he lost Roza. After this chapter, there will be two more preliminary chapters before Roza/Rosa and Dimitri are reunited once again and the rest of the story continues. Chapter 6 will be from Rosa's POV and chapter 7 will be from Dimitri's POV. They will reunite in chapter 8. As requested by two of my readers, I will reunite our lovers in four years time rather than seven. I am also borrowing from both the books and the VA movie for this story, just in case you notice differences. Thanks for reading and please review. Follows and favorites are fantastic, but your reviews – even guest reviews – really tell me how well my story is being received and enjoyed – or not enjoyed, as the case may be.

…

Chapter 5 – Searching

Dimitri's POV

Today was March 28th. It was Roza's birthday and she would have turned 18 years old making it legal for us to be together.

It's been five months since she was taken and likely turned strigoi. They – though no one can tell me who 'they' are – say dealing with loss gets easier as time passes, but for me, the opposite is true. I constantly think of only two things: was Roza truly dead as Vasilisa Dragomir believed, or had she joined the ranks of the undead strigoi and would I be able to kill her?

I would give anything for her to be alive, but I knew that wish was unlikely. Vasilisa had felt the bond break and Adrian Ivashkov had been unable to dream stalk (erm walk) with her, though he'd tried nearly every night since she'd been taken. I knew if it was possible to dream stalk a strigoi that Adrian Ivashkov would be the moroi spirit user to figure out how it was done. I'd come to understand that he'd loved her too, though it didn't make me dislike him any less than I already did – I just – grudgingly accepted it. In the meantime, he'd taken to stalking me on a weekly basis, since I refused to answer my phone. When I asked him why he continued to try to connect with Rose, he just told me that he wouldn't accept her death until we had a body. I knew exactly how he felt, because I felt the same way. I needed definitive proof that Roza was gone forever.

Adrian gave me regular updates on his stalking progress as well as passing on any information he could find, which, considering I despised the man for his indolent nature, had, on occasion, been quite helpful. Adrian Ivashkov had his eyes and ears on the pulse of Royal Court whether he was in residence or not. There wasn't much that went on in that establishment that Adrian didn't know about, sometimes even before the Queen found out. He was actually a serious security risk if he was ever turned strigoi, and I made a mental note to mention my concerns to Hans Croft, the Royal Court head guardian … _after_ I'd found Rose.

Throwing my duffel onto the lumpy double bed of the dingy motel in _Nowhere, Oklahoma_, I wearily rubbed my face as I collapsed onto the edge of the divan, exhausted and aching all over. The strigoi I'd fought that night had put up a good fight, and in the end I'd won and he'd lost, but not until I'd extracted the information I was after. He'd been the tenth such lead I'd followed since my search began, but I didn't know how much faith I had in what he'd told me – strigoi weren't exactly known for their cooperation with guardians, and this one in particular was known to be unreliable.

I'd been on the trail of a strigoi who'd been seen that night in the caves fighting alongside the animal who'd taken my Roza. The animal's name was Nathan Voda. The accomplice's name was Eduard Perez, a dhampir guardian of French/Spanish descent, who'd been turned strigoi when he was just 20 years old. Adrian had emailed me photographs of Nathan and Eduard as well as their dossiers, lifted from the encrypted security files of the Royal Court guardian office. I didn't bother to ask Adrian _how_ he managed to acquire the information.

As much as I hated to admit it, Adrian Ivashkov was a good friend to Rosemarie Hathaway. She had a knack for instilling love and loyalty in the most unlikely people. Those who loved her were diverse and often had little in common with each other. She had been at the center of the group holding her unlikely followers together. She was their sun and they were her planets, circling around her while her formidable brightness gave them life. Her capacity for love was boundless and if it hadn't been for Roza, the motley crew of misfits would have stuck with their own kind as was expected and accepted in moroi-dhampir society.

Roza accepted people as they were – warts and all, and all she asked in return was to be treated in the same manner. Some of her friend's foibles might pain or annoy her, but no matter what their actions, she still had their back unless they hurt the other people she loved – and then look out! It was their love for Roza that brought them all together and it was their love for her that held them steady, even after most of them had accepted her inevitable death.

Inexplicably, the one person's love she'd craved above all others, I had in abundance. All Roza wanted was her mother's love and approval, but nothing she ever did or said was good enough to win Janine Hathaway's open affection or acceptance. I remembered the day shortly after I returned Roza and Vasilisa to the academy when Roza read her mother's telegram. She told me what it said and although Roza laughed it off in that unique way of hers she used to hide her feelings, I knew that her mother's words – or rather, her lack of words, had stung Roza deeply.

Janine Hathaway was the antithesis of what I knew a mother could be. She'd left it up to me to tell her daughter that she loved her before I killed her. Janine was an enigma I would never understand – the quintessential emotionally stunted guardian who believed in the mantra 'they come first' even above her own daughter's life and happiness. What mother doesn't try to save her own daughter when she's kidnapped in front of her very eyes? What mother stops others from trying to save her daughter when the opportunity is there in front of them? We were so close, so close. Janine Hathaway didn't deserve a daughter like Roza.

My own mother was one of the most loving women I'd ever known and my sisters had followed in her footsteps, bringing their own children up with love, acceptance, a firm hand when needed, wisdom and equality – we each were taught that we could be _anything_ we wanted to be – our life was not defined by our race and we _did_ have choices. I'd chosen the guardian path. My sisters had chosen different roads to follow, except for Viktoria who was training to be a guardian at St Basil's Academy.

My baby sister was fifteen and full of passion, ready and eager to protect those less capable of defending themselves. I'd sparred with Viktoria only one time when I'd returned to Siberia to see my family before beginning my quest to find Roza. Her fighting style was sloppy – a lot like Roza's had been before I began training her – but Vika had real potential and I told her how proud I was while imparting a few fighting tips – and, like Roza, she'd learned quickly absorbing everything I did and said like a sponge.

I'd allowed myself three days with my family in Novosibirsk before returning to the United States. I didn't tell them that I wasn't planning on coming back from my self-imposed mission, but Yeva had somehow known, as she always did, and she'd taken me aside on my last day to give me the benefit of her wisdom. As usual, most of what she'd said made little sense – spoken as it often was, in riddles.

"_Dimka, I feel your loss deeply, _(how did she know)_ but you must not throw it all away on a whim. Your flower would not want that for you. You have much to live for my valiant grandson and there are those less capable than you who need you to be strong for them." She smiled a little sadly. "You'll be a good husband and father, my darling Dimka, but alas I won't live to see it. My vision will have to be enough." She squeezed my hand tightly and stared at me as if to compel me to believe. "You _will_ love again," she said insistently._

"_Babushka, I don't think –"_

"_Listen to me, Dimka!" she hissed, cutting me off. "You _will_ find love again – in the garden where the roses grow." Her eyes stared sightlessly off into the distance, seeing something only she could see. "They will need your protection, Dimka – only you can keep them safe from those who would use them for their own devices."_

"_I-I don't understand – who will need me? Protect them from what?"_

"_All will become clear when the time is right. They are safe for now, Dimka – trust in that." She sighed and closed her eyes, collapsing back into the armchair. "You are more like your Babushka than you realize, Dimitri," she added softly, thumping her chest and then mine. "Trust in what is foretold to you in your dreams – they won't lead you wrong."_

I'd spent months pondering Yeva's words, turning them over and over in my mind trying to figure out what she meant. I filed most of what she'd said away to think about another day, but one thing she'd said I took to heart. Roza had been the love of my life and if I couldn't have her, I would have no other, but Yeva's wisdom had convinced me that I needed to go on fighting for what Roza and I believed in. It's what I would expect from Roza and she would expect no less from me.

The eradication of strigoi while I searched for Roza was my new mission – protecting the weak from evil monsters of the night. I no longer believed that moroi life took precedence over dhampir life or even human life – if I ever truly did. I believed that all sentient life should be protected from strigoi, or anything else that went bump in the night.

Standing up from the edge of the bed, I grabbed my laptop bag from where I'd dropped it by the door and pulled out the stack of printed files. I'd bought a small portable printer, not wanting to take the chance that the documents would fall into the wrong hands if I used a public library or internet cafe. I lived in a world that was awash with technology, but I still liked to study and read from books. It's why I refused to buy a Kindle reader for my enormous collection of western novels – I liked the smell and feel of paper.

Flipping through the files, I found the one I'd made for Eduard Perez. Pulling a thick felt-tipped marker from the bag, I wrote 'EXTERMINATED' across the front of the file in large red letters followed by the date. On the inside of the file on the profile page, I wrote the where and when details of his final death. Later, when I returned to Court, I'd hand all of the files to Hans Croft to update the guardian's database.

Tossing it aside, I opened the dossier I'd compiled on Nathan Voda – my ultimate target – revising statistics and my own hastily scrawled notes in the margins. I'd spent weeks tirelessly committing every fact in each of the files to memory, trying to get into the head of a strigoi – searching for what made the strigoi who attacked the academy, tick. Other than the obvious instinct to hunt for food, what or whom made those particular strigoi organize themselves and attack a well guarded compound, was still a mystery to me.

What was the end game? Who was the mastermind behind what happened that day?

In the end, I concluded that it was not only food they were after. If it had been, they would have entered the compound to grab the nearest moroi or dhampir student wandering about while avoiding the guardians, and then hightailed it out of there to feed in solitude. But they hadn't. They'd purposely engaged in battle, sacrificing strigoi and taking hostages before retreating just before dawn.

They'd cunningly taken royal moroi hostages whom the guardians would be sure to try and rescue. Dhampirs were never the focus of a rescue even though every dhampir was the child of a moroi – oftentimes a prominent one like my own asshole father. No – the dhampirs were expendable. Janine Hathaway herself had demonstrated that when she'd abandoned her own daughter to certain death.

We had quickly designed and then executed our battle plan with cunning precision within hours of the attack. Our mandate: rescue the moroi and if we just so happened to stumble upon any dhampir novices, then we could rescue them too. At the time, I'd accepted the rules of engagement just like I always had before, but now, I was filled with nothing but disgust.

Our tactical play had gone according to plan – we'd caught the strigoi by surprise in the caves and they'd acted on instinct rather than using battle tactics. Their instincts made them formidable, but sloppy, and their lack of cohesive strategy in the confined labyrinth of the caves was also their Achilles heel. When cornered, the strigoi acted as autonomous machines with only one goal in sight – kill. Our strategy had allowed the guardian rescue team to extract the hostages, while the battle team distracted the instinct driven strigoi in a fight to the death and it had worked in our favor – for the most part.

We'd done some damage to their numbers in the caves that day. None of the strigoi we'd encountered seemed viable as the one who had designed the attack on the academy, with the exception perhaps of Nathan, but I really didn't think it had been his brainchild. His dossier described him as a strigoi who most often acted alone. He was described as having a sociopathic personality – even before he was turned – and the strigoi genes had only enhanced those undesirable traits. Whoever had enlisted him obviously couldn't afford to be picky.

Even as a moroi, Nathan Voda had been full of his own self-importance and he never showed remorse for his despicable actions. His own family had disowned him when he'd been found guilty of terrorizing young women – moroi, dhampir _and_ human. His actions against a young human teenager had almost blown wide open the secret vampire society we'd fought for millennia to protect. He'd been sentenced seven years ago to life in Tarasov prison for treasonous behavior, but he'd turned himself strigoi, killing one of his guards and severely maiming the others while en route to his incarceration. Suffice to say, neither Nathan Voda nor his guards made it to Tarasov and he'd been on the guardians 'ten most wanted strigoi' list ever since.

I'd spent the better part of a week developing my plan to capture and interrogate Eduard Perez whom I'd tracked across the plains of America to Oklahoma. Eduard Perez may have been a guardian in his previous incarnation, but he'd been known for being a gossip and a braggart. Other guardians soon learned that Perez could not be trusted and he'd rarely been taken into confidence amongst the guardian ranks. His talent for gossip and exaggeration – like many humanoid traits in those who are turned – had been enhanced upon his turning. He stupidly discussed his plans with other strigoi he met, telling any who would listen about the great battle he'd fought and won in Montana. I'd found every one of his confidants, extracting what I could before ending their sorry existence and moving onto the next target, each time getting closer and closer to Eduard who had been the last one to see Nathan Voda and Roza.

Throwing the files onto the bed, I stood tiredly and pulled off my leather coat. Fetching my wet pack of toiletries from the top of my duffel bag, I stripped and headed into the tiny bathroom for a shower. My body ached with bruises, cuts and abrasions. A hot shower was just what I needed to refresh myself for what I planned later. I peered into the mottled mirror above the cracked formica countertop of the 70s era bathroom vanity. Blood had dried in my long hair from a cut I'd received when Perez had struck with a lucky kick, slamming me against a tree. The cut wasn't particularly deep, but head wounds always bled profusely and I hadn't taken the time to clean myself up before finding somewhere safe to sleep for the remainder of the night.

The fat, sweaty proprietor of the motel had stared at my disheveled and bloody appearance while I checked in, paying cash for a single night of accommodation. I'd stared right back, towering over the nosy human silently until he'd swallowed and lowered his eyes, apparently deciding that my appearance and what I'd been doing to get that way was none of his business. A wise move on his part, I'd thought.

Turning the shower taps on fully, I was gratified when healing steam instantly filled the room, and I thanked the Gods that this dumpy establishment had one thing going for it – hot water. Stepping into the stall, I groaned and let the searing water flow over my tired body for a full five minutes to ease the kinks out. Keeping my eyes closed and my faced turned into the pounding water, I reached for the tiny guest bottle of shampoo and flipped the lid with my thumb to squeeze out a large dollop. I froze as a familiar aroma wafted into my nose, immediately reminding me of Roza.

_Lavender. _

The evocative fragrance that was Roza surrounded me in the steam drenched bathroom, invoking memories I'd tried in vain to bury so they wouldn't distract me from my mission. She'd always carried the subtle scent in her hair and on her skin. It was the direct opposite of roses, which most people assumed was Roza's flower of choice given her name, but she'd always said that choosing roses as her flower was too predictable, and Roza was anything but predictable.

I considered discarding the shampoo for the unscented soap, but I decided to allow myself this one lapse in my guard since it was, after all, Roza's birthday. Bringing my full palm up to my head, I lathered my hair, immersing myself in the fragrance completely before rinsing and using the lavender scented conditioner to intensify the effect. While the conditioner soaked in, I reached for the cellophane wrapped bar of plain soap, but I changed my mind and used the remaining shampoo to wash my skin, rubbing the clear lotion into every crevice as I remembered all of the times we'd spent together: training, sparring, talking, laughing, crying, arguing and making love.

By the time I rinsed my hair, the water was running cool and I stepped onto the threadbare bath mat to dry myself off. The fragrance of lavender was thick in the steamy air and for a single moment, I imagined holding Roza in my arms, feeling slightly more at peace than I had since she'd been taken from me.

I took the time to shave and then entered the bedroom to scramble through my duffel bag for sleep pants and a black wife-beater – they were the last clean items I had and I decided to do some laundry before I left town for my next destination – back to where it all began – Montana. I tossed almost the entire contents of my bag onto the bed and grabbed the complimentary plastic laundry bag from the wardrobe, intending to take care of the necessary task first thing in the morning.

While I worked, a paper sack on the small table beside my keys, wallet and phone beckoned temptingly. My eyes kept coming back to it as I dithered around the room, hoping to delay the inevitable. I felt closest to her on this particular day and I didn't want it to end too quickly. I peered at my watch – it was nearing midnight. It was time. If I didn't do it soon, it would be too late.

Taking a deep breath, I searched my duster for the two items I'd shoved in there and approached the table to pick up the sack. Sitting down on one of the cracked, vinyl covered dining chairs, I extracted the pastry from the bag and lay it on the table using the discarded paper as a plate. As I rolled a slender wax taper in my fingers, I waited until the last possible moment before inserting the pink birthday candle and striking a match. After lighting the wick, I stared sadly at the chocolate glazed donut mesmerized by the flickering candle flame.

"Happy birthday, Roza," I murmured as my watch alarm sounded the call of midnight. Closing my eyes, I made a wish as a lone tear escaped and I blew out the candle.

* * *

I was dreaming.

I stood in a field of lavender that extended as far as I could see – all the way to the horizon in every direction. The scent surrounded me, much as it had in the shower, but this time I stood beneath a bright blue sky and shining sun as the purple stalks danced and swayed in the warm breeze. Bees and butterflies flittered from bloom to bloom, the whisper of their wings the only sound in my dream.

My heart thumped and I grinned excitedly as I waited impatiently for her to appear, walking confidently toward me as she always did. Why else would my subconscious bring me here to this place – a place that was so evocative of Roza? My subliminal self wouldn't taunt me in this way – it wouldn't be so cruel as to get my hopes up only to leave me crushed and lonely.

Closing my eyes, I extended my arms out to the side and rotated slowly, praying that Roza would appear before me in the field when I opened them. I so badly needed to see her, even if it was only in my dreams. On the count of three I would open my eyes –

"_One, two, three," I counted softly._

_My eyes opened eagerly to – nothing but a dancing field of lavender. My shoulders slumped brokenly – she hadn't come. I called out for her: "ROZA … ROZA … ROZA," but still she didn't come. I fell to my knees amongst the ripening plants, my body heaving as I sobbed for her, begging her to put me out of my misery. I roared in anguish, and thrashed at the flowers around me intent on destroying that which would torment me horribly. I tore and hacked my way through the garden, consumed by my anger, wanting to destroy the field of lies, and then I heard the words I longed for –_

"_Here I am," a sweet voice said._

_I spun around, frantically searching for the source of the voice and there she was, standing a few yards away from me. _

"_Roza," I breathed, tears streaming down my face._

"_Don't cry," she said. "I'll always be with you."_

_I nodded dumbly. She looked very different to the Roza I remembered – frailer and less … badass … was the only term I knew to describe her appearance. Her hair was very short – a cap of feathery strands against her scalp. She was dressed in a hospital gown and nothing else. Her bare feet crunched in the soft soil as she moved slowly closer to me – her steps hesitant. She stopped when we were almost toe-to-toe._

"_Hello," she said simply._

"_Hello," I replied, tentatively reaching out a hand to cup her cheek. She closed her eyes and curled into my touch, smiling happily. "Roza." I said her name like a prayer as I gazed upon her beautiful face – a face delineated by fine scars over her opposite cheek, eye and into her hairline._

"_Is that my name? I wasn't sure," she said._

_I frowned. "Don't you remember?"_

_She shook her head, dislodging my hand from her face, and then she reached out with tentative fingers to stroke my hair. My eyes closed at her familiar touch. _

"_No," she said. "My life began when I woke up."_

_My eyes shot open. "What do you mean?"_

_She smiled. "I was asleep for a long time and then I woke up." Her fingers twirled strands of my hair as she looked deep into my eyes. "What's your name?" she asked curiously. _

_I gulped. Had she forgotten me already? "Dimitri. My name is Dimitri. You _know_ me." I reminded her insistently._

_She released my hair and shook her head, rubbing her forehead as though it pained her. "I don't remember. It's all gone," she said sadly._

"_What do you mean?" I asked her urgently. "Where are you? Tell me, Roza and I'll come and get you. I need you. I-I love you!" I beseeched her urgently._

_She looked away, watching the field of lavender sway in the warm sun. She almost seemed distracted – not quite here with me in the dream. "It's so beautiful here – and there," she whispered._

"_Where are you, Roza?!" I asked her again. "Tell me!" I reached out and gripped her arms, remembering to be gentle because of her frailty, and turned her around to look at me. "Please, Roza!"_

"_I'm somewhere safe – we're both safe," she said cryptically._

Who was 'we'? What was the talking about?

"_We? Who are 'we'?"_

_She pulled the gown covering her body tightly over her belly showing me the gentle swell._

"_My baby and I are safe."_

"_Your baby!?"_

"_Hmm, Molly," she whispered, stroking her stomach._

_I reached out toward her stomach, but paused to ask for silent permission. I didn't want to frighten her._

"_It's okay," she said, "You can touch her – she's yours."_

What? My hand dropped of its own volition. That's not possible!

"_Roza, tell me where you are!" I begged again._

"_I can't," she said sadly._

"_Why not?!" I yelled in exasperation. "If you tell me, I can come and get you! We can be together again."_

_She shook her head. "Now is not the right time. You'll find me when the time is right," she said confidently._

"_I don't –" I shook my head. "I don't understand."_

_Her face was sad. "Neither do I, really. I only know that you will come when I need you. I'll wait for you until then."_

The dreamscape began to shimmer and break down. No! I was waking up. Not yet! Not yet!

"_Just give me a clue, Roza?" I begged. "Anything to help me find you."_

_She turned her head toward the western horizon and a mountain range appeared before us._

"_You'll find us where the roses grow."_

_What? I shook my head. _Where had I heard that before?

"_What does that mean, Roza?" I asked urgently. I reached out and cupped the silky soft skin of her warm face._

"_I'm not sure," she said, "but you'll work it out. I have to go now." She turned and began to walk away from me._

"_No!" I screamed. "Roza, stay!"_

_She turned her head around to smile sadly and wave to me._

"_I can't. Goodbye for now, Dimitri. We'll be waiting."_

And then she was gone.

* * *

I woke up instantly. The bed sheets and blankets were a tangled mess on the stained mattress as if I'd been plagued with nightmares – I suppose my dream had been nightmarish in the beginning. But it wasn't just a dream – not entirely. It had been prophetic, just as Babushka told me it would happen.

Springing from the bed, I dressed hurriedly and tossed my belongings into my duffel bag. Despite the urgency I felt to be on the road, I took the time to search the room carefully, making sure I hadn't left anything behind. It would not be good for me or our society if I was derelict in my duty.

Leaving the room key on the bedside table, I carried my bags from the room and tossed them into the back of the academy SUV I'd procured when I'd left Montana. Alberta Petrov had handled the paperwork and made sure that no one would ask any questions. Now, I was heading back to moroi society, but I wasn't headed to Montana – not yet.

I was going to Pennsylvania first. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to Vasilisa Dragomir telling her to expect me in three days time with important information. A message pinged back less than a minute later – I had a date with the new Queen.

The peeling wheels of the SUV kicked up dust clouds in the early dawn light as I left _Nowhere, Oklahoma_ far behind me.

…

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please review.

I'd just like to say before anyone asks, that Roza/Rosa didn't tell Dimitri where she was because it wasn't her dream – it was Dimitri's. Also, if he gets all the answers at once, there won't be a story – so, try to be patient.


	6. Chapter 6 - A New Life

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

AN: Thanks to the few readers who reviewed chapter 5 - I appreciate your support for my story. This chapter is from Rosa's POV. It's a long one, since there's a lot to get through so we can get to the main part of the story. Btw: Dialogue in italics is Rosa thinking back on conversations she's had as she tells us what's been happening. This chapter spans nearly a six month period.

**Chapter 6 – A New Life**

**Rosa's POV**

Today is May 1st – and it's the first day of my new life. My name is Rosa Campbell and I'm 18 years old. Having a name gave me an identity – not just a formal one, but a sense of self and importance. I would be _Rosa X_ no longer.

Campbell isn't a particularly interesting or famous name – it's just a name like millions of others, but everyone needs a name – even a girl like me, and so, when I was told to choose a new name, I decided on Campbell. I thought it would be easy, but it wasn't. There were so many variables to consider like: did the name go well with Rosa; could I spell it; was it too long or too short; was it a strong name or a weak one. I'm happy with my final choice even if the process did drive me to the brink of insanity.

The origins of _Campbell_ are Scottish, though that doesn't particularly mean anything to me – it was just a feeling I had that the ancient name of kings and highland warriors represented who the real me used to be, and – after what I'd lived through – I felt entitled to adopt a name with those attributes. When I researched the name, this is what I found:

_CAMPBELL: A leader having a powerful personality, who is goal focused, creative, efficient and determined, courageous and sometimes aggressive. A Campbell is unique, stubborn, proud and impatient, while often being resentful of authority. _

Oh, and the name just happens to be synonymous with a can of soup, but hey, I can't have everything! Smiling wryly, I pulled my new purple wallet from a black shoulder bag – a gift from Bridget and Nicholas. They'd taken me into their hearts these past six months and I don't know where I'd be without them. My hospital bill alone made me blanch and I had no idea how I'd ever repay them.

Opening the wallet, I skimmed through its paltry contents: a social security card and a disability check for $879 payable to _Rosa Campbell_. This was my monthly stipend from the government – the princely sum of $202 per week for the privilege of having been beaten and nearly murdered by an unidentified psychotic criminal. The state of Montana balked at issuing a new birth certificate, but suggested I petition the court for a legal name change as an alternative. In the meantime, I did get a legal judgment that formally recognized my amnesia and ignorance about my prior identity.

I returned the contents to my wallet and tossed it into the shoulder bag. My fingers touched on the legal judgment with its official stamps and bold signature from Judge Hawkins, before they ghosted over the file about my accident. I didn't look at it again – I didn't need to. The factual report was dryly written, but the photographs were gruesome, and two in particular made me determined to protect myself and my daughter. One was me in all my bloody, broken misery at the accident scene, and the other was me looking like a wrapped and plastered mummy. It was taken just after my first three surgeries. I had tubes in every orifice; the parts of me not bandaged were covered in dark bruises and contusions, and my face was so swollen I was barely recognizable.

I moved on to the bag of medication I was required to take – some, just when needed for my headaches, but another I had to take every day to prevent seizures. When I'd been seizure free for another three months, the sheriff promised me a provisional drivers license. The most innocuous pills in the bag were my pre-natal vitamins.

Zipping the shoulder bag closed, I placed it neatly beside the trendy red, white and blue travel bag that Bridget had bought me to bring home my meager possessions. At last, I was leaving the hospital after a six month residency and I'd been itching for weeks to do things – something, anything! Nicholas told me not to rush things, but I'd soon concluded, even before I chose the name _Campbell_ that I wasn't known for my patience.

Once I'd felt stronger and regained my impressive appetite, I'd wanted to become active again – not lie about sleeping or resting. Bridget convinced Nicholas that sitting or strolling about outside when the weather permitted wouldn't be too taxing, and so, that's what I did. Sometimes Bridget or Nicholas would join me and other times, I'd wander the lawns on my own, enjoying the spring sunshine. That's how I met James Coulter … and discovered I liked lavender. I was admiring the purple bushes and enjoying the fragrance, when James interrupted my solitude.

"_You're Rosa, aren't you?"_

_I reacted badly. Since seeing those photographs of my injuries, I'd become jumpy and nervous around strange men – especially ones who surprised me. I screamed and jumped backward, almost falling into a tulip bed behind me. He reached out and grabbed hold of my arm, breaking my fall and pulling me against him. I immediately struggled to get free – my self-preservation instinct kicking in with a vengeance._

"_Let me go!" I growled, breaking his hold and kicking his leg out with my slippered foot when he didn't obey me. I never expected my maneuver to drop him, but whatever I'd done, it had the desired effect, and he let go of me._

"_Shit, lady, I was only trying to help you!" he spat from his sprawl on the pathway. _

_He winced and held his side, and I noticed that, like me, he was dressed in his PJs and dressing gown. Shoot – he was a patient here. I immediately felt guilty, and yet, also kind of happy that I knew how to defend myself. My new knowledge raised another question: if I knew self-defense techniques, then why hadn't I freed myself from my last assailant?_

_I leaned down to give him a hand up, bracing myself against a tree trunk for leverage. "Look, I'm sorry, but you scared me," I said, semi-apologetically._

"_Yeah, well, you terrified me," he snapped. "Where'd you learn to do that?"_

_I shrugged. "Don't know. I didn't know until now that I _could_ do that."_

"_That's right. I heard you've got amnesia. That must be weird? I can't imagine not remembering who I am … or who my family is."_

_I fidgeted self consciously. "Yeah, well you get used to it," I said at last. It was true. You don't really miss what you don't remember. It was a fact, and not one I could escape from._

_He held his hand out, a little nervously after I'd dropped him so easily. "I'm James Coulter." _

_I shook his hand, noting the calluses on his palm and fingers. "I'm Rosa." He smiled and it made the skin around his eyes crinkle. He looked like he was about twenty years old. He was tall and well built – broad in the shoulders – with sandy blond hair and bright blue eyes._

"_Well, Rosa, it's a pleasure to meet you, even if you did bruise my ego … and my ass," he added, grinning boyishly. _

"_Oh, the pleasure was all mine, I assure you," I teased, gifting him with my man-eating smile as Bridget called it. He gasped and I smiled inwardly, giving myself an imaginary high-five. Even with short scraggly hair, visible facial scars and glasses, I could still attract someone to me. __He watched me with interest. I knew that look. I wasn't so empty-headed that I didn't know when a boy … a man found me intriguing._

"_Rosa, would you join me in the cafeteria for a coffee?" he asked a little nervously._

"_Sure," I said. "As long as it's hot chocolate."_

"_Hot chocolate it is," he agreed, crooking his elbow for my hand so he could escort me. My heart stuttered a little. He was so sweet, handsome and chivalrous. I obliged, taking hold of his arm and we strolled around the building._

"_So, what are you in for?" I asked curiously._

"_A burst appendix –"_

James was discharged from the hospital the very next day. He came to visit me a few times, bringing me chocolate glazed donuts, a lavender pot plant, magazines and a journal. He said that since I couldn't recall my old memories, I should write down my new ones so I'd always have them. I'd been strangely touched and promised to write in it faithfully. I'd found out during one of his visits that he worked on his family's ranch – _The Coulter Cattle Company _ – as a wrangler while he attended Montana State University in Bozeman. The Triple C was one of the largest ranches in the area and had been in his family since the 1860s when his third great grandfather drove a herd of Texas longhorns into Montana.

On his last visit James told me he was leaving the next day to return to MSU to finish out the rest of the semester. He asked if he could 'call on me' over the summer and I giggled. Some of his mannerisms and phraseology were so old-fashioned ... he was quite the gentleman.

"_You know I'm pregnant, right?" I asked him a little sarcastically._

"_No! Really. You are? I thought that was a soccer ball," he responded with equal mockery, pointing at my stomach._

"_I'm just making sure you know what you're in for," I said. "I won't have a lot of free time with a new baby and I really want to establish myself," I warned. "I … I need to be independent. I want to find a job, maybe take some courses – see what I'm good at."_

"_Rosa, you can do all of those things … I'm not trying to tie you down or anything like that," he defended. "You need to find your feet and discover who you are. I'm only asking to be part of your journey." _

I'd agreed to date him occasionally as long as he realized that 'casual dating' was all I was agreeing to. I liked James, but I wasn't ready to commit myself to anyone and I didn't know when I ever would be. Leaving the bags on my bed, I walked to the window to look upon the gorgeous spring day that graced the Montana Rockies with her presence. Birds chirped, bees buzzed, and a squirrel scampered across the manicured green lawn outside my window.

Their lives were so easy and uncomplicated, I thought. They gathered food, found a mate, built a nest to live in and reared their young. They woke up every day when the sun rose, retiring for the night when it set, and they did the same things each and every day until they died. It didn't matter that they couldn't remember what they did last week, or last month or even a year ago, because it didn't make any difference to them. Their simple lives were motivated by an age-old imperative to thrive and survive ... and that's all.

I sighed. At least they knew their place in the world. I didn't – not really – but, like I'd told James, I planned to find out, and my journey began a few weeks ago when the sheriff came to see me along with one of Whitefish's two social workers. Her name was Maybelline Rogers – a 40-something married woman with exacting, bleached blond hair, wearing too much makeup – most of it from her namesakes new spring line, if I wasn't mistaken.

Maybelline was a solicitous, if rather a harried woman who spoke with a southern twang and loved to hear her own voice above all others, but she meant well and beggars couldn't be choosers in the small community. She spent less than five minutes talking at me before handing me a sheaf of paperwork to complete and dashing off. My meeting with her still made me smile –

"_Rosa, is it?" I nodded. "I'm Maybelline Rogers – your appointed social worker. It's my job to help you establish yourself, but before you can be released into society –" My brows arched and I snorted. What the hell! Was I in prison?! Maybelline continued. "__– y_ou're gonna need a name, a date of birth and an address."

"_Uh –"I began._

"_I know you don't know any of that information – you poor thing – so, you just go right ahead and make something up," she instructed, patting my hand. "It doesn't really matter what name you pick, but your birthday has to be December 31__st__, since you can't remember your real one and all. Oh, and you're going to need an address in Whitefish or from one of the surrounding ranches."_

"_Okay, well, I'll be staying with –" _

_She held up her hand in a halting motion. I glanced wide-eyed at the sheriff who stood near the door with his fist at his mouth trying not to laugh._

"_Once I lodge that paperwork with Judge Hawkins, he'll issue the court order authorizing a new social security number and then you can get a photo identity card – you'll get that at the police station – no smiling," she sang, pointing a waggling finger. "Why is that Sheriff?" Maybelline demanded, turning to fix him with a glare. "Official photographs always look like mug shots – we're not criminals, you know!"_

_He coughed. "Ahm, well you see, Maybelline –"_

_She spoke over the top of him – he didn't seem surprised. He shrugged and I returned the gesture. Oh, well. At least I wasn't the only one who couldn't get a word in edgewise._

"_Okay, Rosa, I think that's about it. Once you get your new identification, you can open a bank account, get a job or go to college and whatnot. In the meantime, I'm going to set you up with a monthly social security payment until you get on your feet, alrighty?"_

_I nodded, not bothering to speak._

_She looked at her watch. "My goodness, will you look at the time! I'm going to be late for my next appointment," she gasped, handing me a business card. "You just call the number on my card when you're done and I'll pop on by to pick up those papers." She turned and dashed for the door. "You take care now, Rosa. Tootles," she said with an airy wave. She paused and turned her blinding white smile in my direction. "Oh, and honey –"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_Welcome to Whitefish."_

For her entire visit, I'd choked back giggles, but as soon as she left, I burst out laughing.

"_Is she for real?" I asked the sheriff when I got my breath back._

"_Yep!" he deadpanned, moving further into my room. "Thankfully, Maybelline Rogers isn't typical of the residents of Whitefish. She hails from the South originally, Louisiana, I think – she married Kenny Rogers who –" (I snorted eliciting a quelling glance from the sheriff), "who runs the lodge on Whitefish Lake."_

_I shook my head in amusement and left the papers on the bed to complete later. Taking a seat in one of the two armchairs in front of the window, I gestured to the other one. "Have a seat –" I invited, smirking at him slyly, "– Sheriff Skerritt."_

_He rolled his eyes, but ambled over to the other armchair. A file was tucked between his arm and his body. He whacked his campaign hat with its Montana crease against his knee. It was kind of like a Stetson, but with a wide, flat brim. It was the type of hat often worn by forest rangers, army drill instructors and … well, sheriffs._

"_How many times do I have to tell you young lady that my name is Stewart – Sheriff Andy Stewart?"_

"_But you _look_ like Tom Skerritt from that 90s TV show, 'Pickett Fences'," I drawled, "and Sheriff Skerritt rhymes so well," I teased._

He'd huffed in a long-suffering manner and rubbed along his mustache, trying to stare me down with his piercing blue eyes. I knew I'd win – I always did. I'd met the Whitefish Sheriff and his counterpart from the Flathead County Sheriff's Department a month earlier when they'd come to interview me about the accident. Of course, I wasn't able to tell them anything. Sheriff Stewart had dropped by a few times since then to give me updates on the investigation and just to visit. He'd brought his daughter with him once – she was about my age and she offered to cut and style my hair for me when I got out of the hospital. She was a hairdressing apprentice at Whitefish's premier salon and she was pretty good – even if she did say so herself. Her name was Petra and we'd really hit it off, right from our first meeting.

"_Alright! Alright!" the sheriff conceded. I gave a little victory fist wave in the air. "Just … don't call me that in public – I have a reputation in this town." _

_I waggled my brows and grinned. "Oh, yeah. Do tell!"_

_He blushed. "You are incorrigible," he scolded._

_I grinned like a Cheshire cat. "I know. I wonder if I was always like this."_

"_Probably," he agreed. "You've lost your memory – not your personality."_

_I brightened. "I never thought of that!" We sat in silence for a moment while the sheriff fidgeted with the file he brought with him. "So, whatchya got there?" I asked, assuming the lawman was here for a reason._

_He eyed me a little warily, before he said, "It's, ahm, the accident report – you said you had questions." It was my turn to eye him anxiously. I _wanted_ to know what it said, and yet, at the same time, I didn't. I swallowed nervously, my eyes fixated on the file he held out to me, which I couldn't quite bring myself to accept. "You sure you want to know?" he asked when I hesitated for longer than a few seconds._

_I nodded slowly. "Yes," I croaked, reaching out to take the file from him. I stared at the label on the front cover: _

Flathead County Sheriff's Department

Accident Report

Motor Vehicle Collision on Highway 2 near Marion

November 2nd 2010

"_Do you want me to tell you what I know, before you read that?" he asked, inclining his head at the file I clutched. I looked down noticing how white my fingers were as they strangled the file to death. I swallowed and nodded, placing it on the table between us. He fiddled with his hat before setting it aside, and then he spoke matter-of-factly, which I appreciated._

"_The accident occurred near the town of Marion on Highway 2 about 50 miles southwest of Whitefish. The vehicle you were in collided with a gasoline tanker making a slow U-turn. It was a dark night – snowy and wet – that may have contributed to the crash. There were two fatalities pronounced dead at the scene. Both were assumed to be male –"_

"_Assumed?"_

_He nodded. "Yes. They were both decapitated when the vehicle collided with the side of the tanker. The top of the car sheared off and the vehicle became trapped under the tank trailer. The truck driver found you when he checked for survivors. He heard a noise coming from the trunk and he pulled you out, and then raised the alarm."_

"_What about the fire?" I asked quietly._

"_It was an inferno," he told me. "The tank ruptured and sparks ignited the leaking fuel. It took hours to extinguish the blaze – they had to bring in three specialized fire engines. It was a miracle the entire national park didn't go up in a massive wild fire," he added._

_I made a noise of agreement. I would have hated feeling responsible for the destruction of so much untamed wilderness. The northern Montana Rockies were so incredibly beautiful and I was actually looking forward to exploring them once I regained my strength and agility._

"_Sheriff, you said the two … fatalities were assumed to be male – don't you know?"_

_He scratched his head. "Well, we're not sure."_

"_You're not sure?!" I squawked with disbelief. "How can you not know their gender? What about DNA?"_

_He leaned forward to speak quietly – almost conspiratorially and I found myself mirroring his posture. "Rosa, it was the damnedest thing. When the fire was finally out and the coroner could get near the bodies and their … ahm, heads … he expected them to be … rather charred. What he didn't expect, was for the remains to disintegrate when he touched them."_

_I blinked in shock. "Define 'disintegrate'."_

"_They just," he paused and shrugged, "collapsed into a pile of black ash. There were no bones, no teeth, no cartilage – nothing left that would identify who they were."_

"_Isn't that … kind of unusual?" I asked, hesitantly._

"_Very," he agreed. "There's generally some organic matter remaining that can be used for identification purposes. Everything was burned away, including their DNA, and the car was nothing but a gutted shell of twisted metal."_

_I chewed my lip thoughtfully – there had to be some clues left to follow. There just HAD to be! "What about the car? Nicholas – Doctor Dillard – he told me it was stolen. Any leads on that?"_

"_Not really," he said, shaking his head. "We traced the vehicle back to an elderly man in Oklahoma who'd reported the car stolen from his garage about six days earlier, but he didn't see or hear anything. The vehicle was clocked and photographed exceeding the speed limit in Wyoming, and we have it on CCTV footage at gas stations in Colorado and Idaho. When we made subsequent inquiries of the Oklahoma Police, there were no reports of a missing girl fitting your description. In fact, we checked with the Police in every state between Montana and Oklahoma, but there was nothing."_

_I exhaled slowly. "So … basically what you're telling me … is that the police don't know any more than they did six months ago."_

_He nodded. "I'm sorry, Rosa, but we're at a dead end. Unless someone comes forth to claim you or makes a missing person report – we've got nothing else to go on."_

The welcome click clack of heels approaching announced the arrival of Bridget and Nicholas to bring me home from the hospital. Since I had nowhere else to go, they'd offered me a room in their house for as long as I wanted. I was grateful for their hospitality and insisted on paying them rent to cover my household expenses. It had been a tough negotiation – the two adults refusing to accept a cent of my money – but I hounded them relentlessly until we agreed on $25 per week. It would barely cover what I ate in food, and with my baby due to be born in three short months, I vowed even more to do everything possible to become self-sufficient.

"Are you ready to go?" Bridget asked me, smiling widely. She left her husband's side to draw me into her arms for a loving cuddle.

"Most definitely!" I replied eagerly. "I've been ready since 7 o'clock this morning. What took you so long – have you been lolling about on the couch again, Nicholas?" I teased him. Nick was a bit of a couch potato whenever he wasn't working and Bridget often riled on him about it.

He held up his hands defensively. "Don't blame me," he whined, moving towards us. "This time it was Bridget's fault we're late. She couldn't stop fussing over your room," he told me, bending down to kiss my forehead.

I grinned. "Oh, yeah. What's it look like?"

"You'll have to wait and see," Bridget interjected, glaring at Nick who was about to reveal all her decorating secrets. "Do you have everything? Are you ready to go?"

"I am _so _ready."

She grinned. "Okay!" she cried excitedly. "Let's go. Nick will you grab Rosa's travel bag?" She didn't wait for his response – simply assuming he would acquiesce – and linked her arm with mine to lead me from the room. I snagged my shoulder bag from the bed as we passed by, glancing around one last time. I wasn't sorry to be leaving, but it was also the only home I knew. The irony of referring to a hospital – essentially a public venue – as a home, wasn't lost on me.

The ride to the Dillard house took about ten minutes and on the drive, Bridget told me how she and Nicholas had moved to Montana two years earlier, buying a house on _Whispering Pines Lane_. They'd left the east coast to be closer to Bridget's parents after her father had a heart attack. It wasn't fatal – fortunately – but Bridget realized that her parents were getting older and she didn't want to live so far from them any longer. They'd talked it over, and after finding no better solution, they'd resigned their positions at a prominent New York hospital and moved to Montana lock, stock and barrel. The hospital in Whitefish had been more than happy to hire the two brilliant surgeons, whose reputations had preceded them – even in Montana.

I loved how Bridget's face lit up when she talked about Montana. She'd been born and bred in the area, growing up on her parents' ranch where they raised Angus cattle and bred Tennessee walking horses. She spoke with enthusiasm about the horses, telling me how, as a girl, she'd ridden the ranch all summer long, escaping into the mountains and sometimes to the lake when the heat became unbearable.

"Do you know how to ride a horse, Rosa?" she asked hopefully.

I thought about her question carefully, not asking myself whether I had ever ridden, because I couldn't actually remember specific events. My memories were more abstract than that – being skill or knowledge based.

"No."

"Would you like to learn?" she asked me eagerly. Her face was so hopeful that I hated to disappoint her.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

She grinned so large I thought she might burst from happiness. "Oh, you're gonna love it!" she cried enthusiastically. "It's great for building muscle strength in your entire body. It might be just what you need to help regain the physical fitness you lost after so much inactivity. Physiotherapy can only do so much."

I scowled as she reminded me how weak I was and I still tired easily. Bridget had told me that when she operated on my broken legs that she'd been amazed at the muscle development and strength. She'd posited that I must have been an athlete of some type – perhaps a runner. Nicholas thought perhaps I'd been a track and field athlete since my upper body was similarly developed. When he'd first suggested it, I got this image in my head of a female body builder with bulging, oil glossed muscles and no boobs to speak of.

They'd laughingly told me that wasn't the case, but to help me remember skills and knowledge we developed this game of sorts where one or the other would ask me questions or show me things. We started off with easy subjects like: what was my favorite color? Nicholas produced a color wheel and I immediately pointed to the colors I liked the most. We discovered that I was partial to darker colors like black, red and purple, but I was also drawn to shades of brown – the deeper the better. When I'd first looked at the color wheel, an intense brown drew me in, and I'd lost myself in a sea of chocolate. I didn't know why brown meant so much to me, but I figured it had something to do with my past and, I hoped, a happy memory.

"We're here," Nicholas announced as he brought the black SUV to halt on a flagstone apron near the front entrance.

My jaw dropped as I gazed upon their palatial, rustic home with its stunning lake views. I really hadn't grasped just how grand it was – even from Bridget's descriptions. It was gorgeous ... a red cedar and stone structure with a cedar shingle roof, lots of glass windows to best enjoy the vistas, verandas for sitting and stone patios for entertaining. A set of flagstone steps – wider at the bottom and narrowing towards the top at the entry level – welcomed guests to the home. The property was surrounded by large pine, Douglas-fir and spruce trees that helped the sprawling single-level structure blend into its surroundings.

"Wow! Just … wow," I repeated, at a loss for adequate words. "Your home is beautiful."

"Isn't it though," Bridget agreed, "and you haven't even seen inside yet."

Bridget and Nicholas welcomed me into their home and Bridget gave me the two cent tour while Nicholas returned to the hospital. The interior of the house was reminiscent of the exterior – lots of natural stone and timber in woodland and water colors, with enormous rustic fireplaces in almost every room. It was decorated with an eclectic mix of country, modern and antique furniture. I went to stand in front of the floor to ceiling windows looking out over the rear yard with the lake in the background.

It was beautiful – beyond my capability to describe adequately and suddenly, I was terrified. "How am I ever to afford to live here?" I whispered. Bridget's arm reached around my shoulders as she hugged me to her side comfortingly.

"You don't," she responded quietly. "We don't want or need your money, Rosa. Any additional expense is petty cash compared to what it already costs to maintain this household. You and your baby are our guests for as long as you want to stay here."

I must admit, it was not going to be a hardship to live in this beautiful home, but I didn't want people to say that I was taking advantage. "Alright, Bridget, if you're sure? I still want you to accept my rent … it'll make me feel less like a leech."

"You're not a leech, Rosa!" Bridget exclaimed angrily, shaking my shoulders slightly. "If we didn't want you here, we wouldn't have asked you. You've become like a sister or a daughter to me and even if you hadn't, we'd still have offered you a home because you need one and we want you here."

Unshed tears of love and gratitude for this woman and her husband glazed my eyes. I brought a hand up to wipe at the tears hurriedly. "O-okay," I whispered dropping the subject forever. I'd come to love them both very much, and they'd replaced the parents I no longer remembered.

"Good," Bridget said. "Let's finish the tour."

Bridget showed me how to operate the drapes using a remote system and how to open the windows, which were actually bi-fold doors that ran the entire width of the living room. The effect when they were open was staggering – the house instantly connecting with the outside and tripling the size of the living area. After showing me the kitchen and laundry, Bridget led me down a long corridor to the guest bedrooms. The master bedroom suite was on the other side of the house – for privacy. We stopped in front of a door off an open library area that contained big squashy couches, floor lamps and glass-fronted wall-to-ceiling book cases. Of course, there was also a fireplace, and wide doors that opened onto yet another flagstone patio.

"Are you ready?" Bridget asked me, her hand reaching for the door handle. I nodded ... a little, okay, a lot ... excited. "Voila," she announced opening the door with a flourish. I peered in and my jaw dropped for the second time that morning.

The bedroom was huge and looked out over the giant infinity pool. Clouds of steam rose invitingly off the heated water. It had been cleverly designed to blend with the lake bringing it into the foreground. My room had its own veranda, already staged with outdoor couches and a small dining area – perfect for enjoying a meal or hot chocolate.

Oh, but the bedroom – it was truly beautiful. Another stone fireplace sat proudly in the center of the wall opposite the bed. The dark timber floor was covered with a large modern rug in differing shades of chocolate brown and purple. It shone like expensive silk and I had an indescribable urge to dig in my bare toes and just … luxuriate.

I'd do that later.

The walls were painted a pretty color of lavender and the bed was crowned with a tufted upholstered headboard in a contrasting darker shade. Antiqued mirror bedside tables graced each side of the queen sized bed that was mounded with pillows and cushions in shades of cream, lavender and purple. Beneath them was a thick down-filled quilt tucked inside a chocolate brown cover.

A giggle of happiness hiccupped from my chest. It was the best bedroom I'd ever had ... or so I believed, having no previous reference I remembered. I walked slowly into the room, peering around, almost too afraid to touch lest it disappeared forever. When I happened to look up, a modern chandelier dangled from the ceiling.

I don't know if I was a girly-girl in my previous life – I suspect not if my bold color choices and athleticism were any indication – but, I have to tell you, I was totally _in love_ with this bedroom. There was so much to discover that it was almost overwhelming.

The bedside tables were topped with white lamps – the bases carved to look like pineapples and beside them were small vases full of freshly cut lavender – my favorite flower. There was a lounge chair by the window – perfect for reading, listening to music or just relaxing. My hand stroked over the fabric ... gorgeous chenille velvet in a deep royal purple. A large TV was mounted to the wall above the fireplace and the remaining walls were decorated with carefully placed artwork. There was a cream antique ladies desk – I think it might have been French – and a matching chair covered in cream silk. On the top of the desk were three wrapped boxes of varying sizes tied with a large red ribbon.

I frowned and ignored them for the moment.

Two doors either side of the fireplace led to a giant walk-in closet and an equally giant bathroom with a freestanding tub, a large shower stall and a double sink vanity. Another mirrored console table was set up as a makeup and hair station with a pretty mirror, flowers and a selection of cosmetic brushes. A bottle of French perfume rested on the table in front of which, was a fabulous _Louis Ghost Chair_.

I giggled again. I felt like I'd entered a fantasy.

"Do you like it?" Bridget asked me a little nervously.

I looked at her like she was crazy. Do I like it? Hmm, let me think. "Yes!" I screamed. "I love it, but you shouldn't have spent so much money, Bridget … you've done so much for me already –"

"Hey, don't rain on my parade," Bridget scolded. "I wanted to do it – and it was fun," she said with a giggle.

* * *

In the days and weeks that followed, I settled into my new home in my new town and made plans for the arrival of my baby. I felt her move for the first time the very night I came home from the hospital. It was such a strange sensation that I can hardly describe it. My pregnancy seemed more real to me after that and I looked forward to every movement she made from that time onward. I began thinking of names as my due date came closer, asking her what she thought and discarding the names she didn't react to.

We narrowed it down to three names we both liked: Vanessa, Sophia and Maili – pronounced MOY-lee. It was a Gaelic name meaning _'wis__hed for child'_. I like it because it was a strong name and I wanted a name of significance for my little girl. I wanted her to have a sense of 'self' so she'd always have her own identity, and I felt the character traits of Maili fit the bill perfectly:

_MAILI: people with this name are excited by change, adventure, and excitement. They are dynamic, visionary and versatile, able to make constructive use of freedom. They fight being restricted by rules and conventions. They tend to be optimistic, energetic, intelligent, and make friends easily. They may be changeable, restless, untidy, and rebellious._

Of course, Maili became Molly as she learned to talk, since she couldn't quite get her tongue around the syllables, but even as a toddler she was one determined and adventurous little girl. When I announced to Bridget that I'd chosen a name, she said it was the perfect time to decorate a nursery. I immediately saw dollar signs in her eyes and it scared me shitless. I refused point blank to allow her to spend any more money than absolutely necessary. Eventually, we compromised, and Bridget used her contacts with the nurses at the hospital to beg, borrow and steal the 'must have' items for a new baby, while I – grudgingly – allowed her to shop for baby clothes and accessories.

Just two days before I went into labor, we set up Maili's pink crib and change table in a smaller room next to mine, converting a chest of drawers to work double-duty. The room was conveniently painted a nice neutral white color making it easy to decorate. We hung some pretty – and more importantly – inexpensive striped curtains at the windows, and replaced the shade over the central light with something more suitable for a nursery.

Nick carried in an upholstered rocking chair donated by one of the nurses. It looked like an armchair and came with two different slip covers. We positioned it in the corner near the window beside a lamp and a small table. Nick hung some ceiling mobiles – one over the crib and another over the change table – while Bridget mounted some framed nursery scenes and photographs. The only significant purchase was the soft white rug to cover the hard floors and thankfully, there was no fireplace.

Maili was born a week late on the 7th of August after a relatively short labor. I'd really wanted to give birth naturally ... to remember every moment, even the pain and discomfort. However, both Bridget, as my orthopedic surgeon, and Doctor Kinder, my obstetrician, vetoed that idea as soon as I mentioned it. Instead, I had to settle for an epidural and a caesarian section because of my recent fractured pelvis.

As soon as she was laid in my arms, I fell in love with Maili. I cried as I looked upon her tiny body, checking her fingers and toes and everything vital. She was so beautiful with her thick thatch of brunette hair and deep brown eyes beneath delicate brows.

"She's got your ears, nose and mouth," Bridget sniffled as she sobbed over both of us in the delivery room.

"Do you think so?"

"Yes … I do." She reached for the baby's hand and Maili gripped her finger strongly. "Hello, Maili," Bridget whispered, "I'm your grandma." I laughed and looked up at the woman only fourteen years older than me who looked like a runway model.

"You'll be the hippest grandma in Montana," I said. "Would you like to hold her?" Bridget nodded eagerly and gently took her from my arms, which immediately felt empty. She held her closely against her chest and rocked to and fro, all the while talking softly.

"Wait till you meet your new pony, Maili," Bridget cooed.

I nearly flipped off the table. "Give her a chance, Bridget. You haven't even taught me to ride yet. You do remember that the horses were skittish around me?" Bridget had taken me out to her parents' ranch and we'd wandered out to the paddock and barns to meet the horses. Her parent's Raymond and Laurel were wonderful; the horses – not so much. They'd shied away as I approached and wouldn't come near me.

"I told you, Rosa, you were just nervous and they sensed that," she said in a cooing voice as she rocked Maili. "Once we get you over your fear, you'll be fine."

A nurse approached. "We need to take her now, Doctor Hanson."

Hanson was Bridget's maiden name. The first time I'd heard someone address her, I wondered who they were talking to. Bridget said it made it easier for everyone at work, if she was Doctor Hanson and Nicholas was Doctor Dillard. Bridget handed her over reluctantly, and we both watched the nurse leave with my daughter.

"Don't worry, Rosa," another nurse said kindly. She'd noticed my anxiety. "Nancy's going to weigh her and clean her up at bit, and she'll bring her right back to you. In the meantime, let's get you to your room."

Maili and I came home from the hospital two days later. My incision was sore at first, but within days I'd already healed at a miraculous rate. _"Amazing. Just amazing,"_ Doctor Kinder had said when she'd examined my incision. The two edges had knitted, and ceased weeping within twelve hours of the surgery. The cut lost its fresh, angry appearance and within a week I was walking around, bending over and stretching as though nothing had happened. Maili was a happy baby, breastfeeding well and she gave me hardly any trouble. Bridget, of course, adored her and Nicholas was wrapped around her little finger. He declared her his little princess and God help anyone who hurt her.

The summer progressed and I went on a handful of dates with James Coulter. A couple of times, we brought Maili along, wheeling her up and down Main Street in her stroller on our way to breakfast. Another time, James took me to an early movie and once to a bar with a country band and lots of dancing. I'd had a great time and he'd even coaxed me onto the dance floor.

I regained my figure, losing the baby weight easily and received the all clear from my doctors to be begin exercising in earnest. I found a park with a running track and plenty of trails around Whisper Pines Lane were I could jog to improve my cardiac fitness. My hip and right leg hurt sometimes if I pushed too much too quickly, and I soon learned to stop at the first hint of discomfort.

"I told you to take it easy, Rosa," Bridget said the first time I'd pushed on, ignoring my body's protests. She'd helped me limp painfully to my bedroom, handed me some painkillers and offered me a heating pad for my trouble. I'd hoped for her sympathy and pouted when she wasn't.

"You've made great strides in your recovery, but that right leg was severely broken. You _will _regain most of your mobility over time, but that leg is never going to be perfect," she'd reminded as she stood over me with her hands on her hips and a scowl of disapproval. I glared at her and she simply raised one eyebrow of censure until I backed down knowing she was right and I'd been stupid.

"How am I going to look after Maili if you won't let me out of bed?" I whined.

"I'll change to night shifts for a few days if you'll ask Petra to stay with you. She can stay in the guest room across the hall. I'll stay home days and help you with Maili."

"I'll ask her," I said quietly, reaching for my iPhone on the bedside table. It, along with an iPad and a MacBook Air were the three wrapped gifts that had been in my bedroom the day I came home from the hospital. I'd been thrilled with the gifts, but also embarrassed that Bridget and Nick had spent yet more money on me. I'd mentally added the expense to the tally I was keeping.

And so, I spent three days in my room with Maili on the bed beside me. I caught up on sleep, dozing when Maili did, and I wrote in my journal. When I wasn't doing that, I studied for my online courses – math, English and creative writing. Mrs Ellis, the head librarian at the community library suggested the writing course when she'd read some of my journal. I'd gone there one day with Maili to borrow a book I needed for English. While I was checking out with my shiny new library card, Mrs Ellis approached to ask if I was _Rosa Campbell_. When I said I was, she handed me the journal and introduced herself.

"_You write with such passion, Miss Campbell, and your use of language is poignant. I really felt like sometimes I was with you, but your talent is raw. You should take a creative writing course … your prose and style would benefit greatly."_

_My jaw dropped in shock and then snapped back knocking my teeth together. I was pissed. She'd read my journal?! How dare her!_

"_I dared because I didn't know who the journal belonged to," she said primly, and I realized I'd given voice to my angry feelings. "Think about what I said and next time; write your name in the front of your diary." She walked off to do whatever it was that head librarians did, leaving me speechless. I grabbed the English textbook from the shocked attendant at the counter and shoved it into my bag with the journal._

"_We'll see you soon," the attendant called after me as I hurriedly wheeled Maili's stroller toward the exit._

"_Not fricking likely," I'd mumbled._

Of course, I had gone back – firstly to return the borrowed text book and secondly to ask Mrs Ellis about creative writing. Her praise for my little ramblings had gotten me thinking about what I could do with my life that wouldn't take me away from Maili. I couldn't really go to college (I had no transcripts) or get a full time job because I had no one to look after my baby. I apologized to Mrs Ellis for my lack of manners when she'd only been helpful and she offered me her wisdom freely.

"_First of all, Miss Campbell –"_

"_Call me Rosa."_

"_First of all, Rosa, you need to read books and stories of all genres. Find what you like and read as much as you can. Study the prose of published authors. Take note of their style and how they create characters. Learn from them. Don't try to imitate them … every author is unique, but established writers offer great insight into what makes a story a commercial success."_

"_But … how do I think of a plot?" I asked, more than a little intrigued._

"_Writing what you know is always the best choice. Jot down impressions or dialogue when they occur to you. Record fragments of dreams – the brain is wonderful at stimulating ideas. Keep a notebook by your bed to write down what you remember before the dream fades. Sign up for an online writing course (she gave me the details of some good ones) and get some practice with a real audience."_

_A real audience. How the hell would I do that?_

"_Fanfiction," she said like it was the answer to all my prayers. Shoot, I'd spoke my thoughts out loud again. I really had to stop doing that._

"_What's that?" I asked, a little confused. She went on to explain, and told me that it was a perfect forum in which to write for a ready-made audience of readers just clamoring for more of what they weren't getting from their favorite authors, movies or television._

I thanked her for her time and wandered away thinking about what she'd said. I decided to start with her first piece of advice and read something. Petra was always raving on about this book or that book, and I headed over to the young adult fiction section to browse the shelves. I pulled down two books I thought I should at least _try _to read: _The Hunger Games_ and _Twilight_. Petra had blathered on endlessly about both of them. I thought _The Hunger Games_ might be interesting, but I really couldn't get all that excited about sparkly vampires who lived off of the blood of animals.

I checked out with my two new books and headed out to meet Bridget for lunch. As I neared the door to the library, a flyer on the community notice board announced self defense classes at the Youth Center. Each class was only $10. I recalled when I'd brought down James and my curiosity was piqued. Did I really have any skills in that area, or had it just been dumb luck? I grabbed one of the flyers to read over later. Something told me that what I'd done hadn't been a fluke.

Before long, the seasons changed and we were nearing the end of autumn and my twelve month anniversary. Maili was growing in leaps and bounds, and she continued to be a happy baby. Her features became more prominent, losing that new baby, slightly squashy look. Her deep brown eyes were large and bright, and I was seriously envious of her long curly lashes. Her hair was thick and had lightened slightly, but she was still a brunette, whereas mine was a dark brownish-black. She did keep the shape of my nose and mouth, but I could definitely see the influence of her father's genes in the features of her face.

I got a part-time job at the local Safeway working – ironically – in the books and magazine section. I spent a lot of time reading dust covers and evaluating the different stories. I found I enjoyed reading, and as a result, my own writing improved. I'd written a few short stories and posted them on Fanfiction, but I kept my pen name a secret. I didn't want my friends and family to lie, or worse, admit that my writing was crap – it was still too new and personal to me. To my surprise, my stories were met with a decent response. Nothing over the top mind you, but decent none the less. It made me happy.

I kept up my jogging, graduating to running as my stamina and fitness improved, and I joined the self defense class with Bridget and Nicholas's medical blessing. The instructor started by demonstrating an attack with him as the attacker and one of the students as the victim. When he'd asked for a volunteer, I put my hand up. I really wanted to know what I could do. He'd flown at me to grab me in a hold and I'd immediately gone into a defensive stance. Less than five seconds later the instructor was flat on the floor wondering what the hell happened, and I was standing over him.

That day was momentous. It was the day I found out that I could be quite the badass when I needed to be. Jackson, the instructor, took me aside after class and offered a separate training session. He said the only way to gauge my skill level was to go at it one-on-one in a sparring session. We set up a date for the next afternoon and at the end of thirty minutes, he'd pinned me three times, but the last time I'd nearly won. I was exhausted and breathless, but absolutely thrilled with myself and I couldn't stop smiling.

"_You're really good, Rosa. You've had some pretty intensive training in the past. I nearly didn't win our third fight."_

_I grinned. "Thanks," I puffed still trying to catch my breath._

"_Where'd you learn to fight like that and why were you in a beginners self defense class? You could be teaching it."_

"_I don't know. I have amnesia. I don't know anything about my past," I told him matter-of-factly._

_He blinked in confusion for a moment. "No, really. Tell me –" I stared at him until the penny dropped. "Oh shit, you're serious?" I nodded slowly, just once. His face paled and then he flushed bright red in embarrassment. "Ahm –" he scratched the back of his head. "Rosa, I don't actually know how to respond to that. I'm sorry."_

_I shrugged. "Don't worry about it. It's not like there's a Hallmark verse for something like amnesia."_

_He smiled weakly "I suppose you're right. How do you ... you know ... cope?"_

"_I just do. I don't have any choice, but learning that I have a killer skill really helps me," I said, grinning. _

_He laughed. "I suppose it would," he agreed. "Okay, well, I'd like to spar with you some more if you're open to it. We can start off with thirty minute sessions twice a week – private training of course; you're too good for any of my other classes – and I'll still only charge you $10 per session."_

"_Really?" I asked in surprise. "That would be great. Um, but I have a baby – she's three months old, so my schedule might be a bit tight … or I'd need to bring her," I told Jackson, hoping he wouldn't retract his offer. "Would that be okay?"_

"_That's not a problem."_

We agreed on my next two sessions and I left the gym. I strolled over to the hospital, still on cloud nine, to meet Nicholas. He'd dropped me at the community center on his way to the hospital. When I told him what happened, he was cautiously happy for me, but he wanted to speak with Jackson on my behalf since combative sparring was entirely different to self defense lessons. When I asked him why, a little affronted by his attitude, he'd assured me it was only to apprise my instructor of my limitations. I wasn't particularly happy about it, but I agreed sulkily and I wouldn't talk to him on the drive home.

The anniversary of my accident came and went with little fanfare. Sheriff Stewart (Petra's father) came to see me and told me that, officially my file was still open, but unofficially it was being put on the back burner. In twelve months, not one inquiry had been made about me or anyone fitting my description. My photograph wasn't in any database and I hadn't been issued with a drivers license, a passport or a student Id card in any state between Montana and Oklahoma.

There were no further leads to follow.

And so, with a disappointed heart, I decided to go on as if nothing bad had ever happened. I promised myself I would be content with my new life, my new name and my new daughter. I had friends and I had people who supported me. I had a new family in Nicholas, Bridget and her parents. I had a job and I had new interests, as well as an old one, newly rediscovered.

My new life wasn't so bad, and I was happy.

…

A/N: Thanks for reading and please leave me a review if you enjoy my writing. I've got lots of readers if my story stats are to be believed, but not many are taking the time to leave a review. Your comments are always welcome.

I don't know anything about self defense, combat or how a class might be conducted, so forgive me if I wrote it incorrectly. If any expert readers have any tips, feel free to comment. I'm always happy to accept help where I need it.

In case anyone is worried, Rosa will not become seriously involved with any man other than Dimitri. She does date James and become friends with Jackson – she is after all, a vital young woman – but it never goes further than dates and some kissing. This IS a Rose and Dimitri story. Next chapter is from Dimitri's POV and then our two lovers will be reunited in chapter 8 when the primary story arc will begin. Thanks for your patience while I get us there.

Some other notes …

Maybelline Rogers – I know I've written her in a stereotypical manner, but I wanted to include at least one or two characters in the town of Whitefish who had some quirky mannerisms.

It tickled my fancy that Maybelline's husband's name would be Kenny Rogers. The real Kenny Rogers is a country singer who was popular during the 70s, 80s and 90s. He is best known for his songs 'Coward of the County' and 'The Gambler'.

Whitefish is about 180 miles north of Hamilton in Montana, which is the town in the VA movie where St Vladimir's is situated.

The town of Marion, where the car crash occurred is situated off Highway 2 Montana, about 36 miles southwest of Whitefish.

I used the US Social Security website to calculate a minimum disability amount to be paid to Rosa, basing the calculation on the Montana minimum wage of $7.90 x 2080 annual hours.


	7. Chapter 7 - Special Assignment

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

AN: Thank you to those who reviewed chapter 6. As always, your support is appreciated.

...

**Chapter 7 – Special Assignment**

**Dimitri's POV – **_**four years after Rose's disappearance**_

"Belikov," I said, answering my phone using the SUVs telecommunication system.

"Dimitri, it's Lissa."

I immediately sat at attention. The Queen occasionally called me to see how I was, but never during the human day. Why wasn't she sleeping? "Your Majesty –"

I heard a tsking sound. "How many times have I told you to call me Lissa when we're alone or amongst friends, Dimitri?" she demanded crossly.

I paused, wondering what had distressed the queen. My formality never angered her. It merely annoyed her. "Many times, Your Maj –"

"Yes …" she growled.

"– Lissa," I corrected.

"That's better. Are you at St Vladimir's?"

I frowned, wondering why she was asking. I'd been based at the Academy for two and a half years. Vasilisa had requested that I return to work to replenish the ranks of lost guardians ... and, knowing I felt closest to Rose at St Vladimir's, she'd offered me the cabin to live in to sweeten the pot. I don't know how she knew. Perhaps Rose had told her before the final battle … or maybe Adrian did (he seemed to know everything) but I'd never asked and she'd never said. I'd reluctantly agreed to her terms, which included a new role – one I hadn't been expecting.

"No, but I'm on my way back. I'm a few hours away."

"Good. I'm coming to see you. I've already alerted Kirova and Alberta Petrov."

Now, I definitely was worried. "What's wrong, Lissa?" I asked her urgently. "Are you in dang –"

"I'm _fine_, Dimitri, don't worry about me. I'll explain everything when I get there. I'll see you in a few hours." She hung up, and despite her assertions that she was well, I'd heard worry and stress in her voice. I consciously pressed my foot harder to the gas pedal.

After Tatiana abdicated and Vasilisa was crowned, the strigoi had made it their mission to destabilize moroi society by killing or turning the new, young queen. In the year following Vasilisa Dragomir's ascension to the throne, the strigoi attacked Royal Court on three occasions; each time breaking the wards just like they had at St Vladimir's. Once the strigoi understood how to do it, the knowledge spread amongst them quickly.

Wards were fueled by elemental magic: earth, air, fire and water. After the third brazen attack on Royal Court, Lissa injected some spirit into the wards, which made them exponentially stronger. Unfortunately, there weren't enough spirit users to go around and using spirit to ward a building or land was debilitating to the user. Each time Lissa wielded spirit in the wards, it weakened her mentally and physically, and she had no way of escaping the darkness using that much spirit created.

I'd been at Royal Court on a visit when I'd witnessed how the darkness was affecting her and I wanted to help her. I suggested a method of release that had always worked for Roza: physical exercise, or to be more exact, combat training. I invited Lissa into the Court gym, and gesturing to myself, I told her to have at it. She'd refused of course. She was a well brought up young lady and the Queen. _She_ didn't engage in such activities. No amount of coaxing would convince her, and so, at the risk of being arrested for treason, I goaded her into attacking me.

I called her weak and useless. I accused her of being ineffective as a queen; of being a silly child easily manipulated by her royal council. _"Why else would they vote a teenager onto the throne?"_ I'd snickered. It had worked – I could see the rage overwhelming her – but not enough, so I used my ultimate weapon: Rose.

"_Look at yourself, Vasilisa!" I yelled. "You're spoiled and lazy. You claim that Rose was your sister and you loved her ... but that's not true is it!? You used her to make your life easy, and you never really gave a shit about her," I sneered. "You barely even grieved for her. You make me ashamed to be your subject –"_

I'd scarcely spoken my last taunt, when she'd launched herself at me in a fury. She punched and kicked and pulled my hair. She used her nails to scratch me. She even tried to bite me – not a fang bite, but a 'full set of teeth' bite that leaves a perfect impression on the skin and a nasty bruise. The Queen pounded on me until she was exhausted and teary, and when she'd finally calmed down after almost an hour, Adrian said her aura was free of darkness.

I'd apologized for the things I'd said, and she'd understood that I hadn't meant them. Yet, Lissa was not as forgiving of her own actions – beyond mortified that she'd tried to bite me. I'd waved it off as unimportant, simply pleased that I'd been able to help her.

"_Thank you for allowing me to beat you up, Dimitri," she sniffled. "You somehow knew just what I needed."_

"_It was my pleasure, Lissa," I answered softly. "The darkness needs an outlet. It was how … Rose got it out of her system. You must not wait so long next time."_

_She nodded agreeably. "I won't. It was actually kind of fun after the anger burned out of me. I can see why Rose enjoyed sparring with you so much," she remarked._

_I smiled wanly. "You can beat me up any time, Your Majesty … I'll even let you win," I joked._

_She snorted and giggled. "As if I could win any other way, Dimitri. You're a good friend."_

Reaching her slender arms around my waist, she'd hugged me to her tightly and I – typically – was at a loss at how to respond. I glanced over her shoulder at Christian who rolled his eyes and made a hugging motion with his arms. He mouthed _thank you_ to me and I returned her embrace. From that point onward, one of her guardians volunteered to be her pounding board whenever she needed it.

* * *

Fiddling with the radio, I found a station that played classic country music and settled in for the next two hours of driving. As I relaxed into the music that soothed me, I next recalled the meeting I'd arranged with the Queen after Rose's 18th birthday. She'd brought Adrian and Christian with her and we'd spoken in secrecy. Vasilisa had hugged me that time as well (she was a touchy-feely person, as Rose had described her) but I felt awkward returning it.

_Christian Ozera only raised a dark eyebrow and smirked at my discomfort. "Oh, just hug her back, Dimitri. For God's sake, man, she's Rose's best friend – almost her sister."_

"_And my Queen," I'd answered formally, but I did reach my arms around her slender body and give her the semblance of a warm greeting._

"_What news do you have?" Lissa asked as she retreated to sit with Christian on the loveseat. Adrian slouched in an armchair, a glass of vodka in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He only saluted with his glass in greeting._

_I discarded my coat and sat down in the remaining armchair. "I assume Adrian has kept you informed of my progress?" There were nods all around. "As you know, I've been tracking strigoi across five states looking for Nathan Voda and Roza. Four days ago, I found and killed a former dhampir who had the information I needed." _

_Lissa gasped hopefully. "You've found Rose?" She'd spent months researching an urban myth about turning a strigoi back to their former state using a spirit infused stake wielded by a spirit user. I was unclear at this point, what progress she'd made, but she'd made me promise to bring strigoi-Rose back if it was at all possible. If there was any chance the myth was true, Lissa wanted the opportunity to try it._

_I paused and shook my head sadly. "No, I'm sorry, Majesty –" (she glared) "– Lissa, I haven't, but I feel I am getting closer. The strigoi told me that Nathan Voda took a car and headed north toward Canada … and he took Roza with him. He swore before I killed him that she was still alive when he last saw her."_

_Lissa's face fell. "That doesn't mean anything, Dimitri. You know I felt the bond break. So, if she's not dead, then she must be strigoi. There are no other choices."_

_Christian had been watching me closely as I relayed the information and he must have noticed a look of hope on my face, because he sat forward. "Or is there?" he asked. I nodded once and turned to address Adrian._

"_Adrian, you've been trying to dream walk with Roza. What happens?"_

"_Absolutely nothing," he said in a sulky tone._

_I rolled my eyes. Of all the days for Adrian to hit the booze bottle. "Describe it to me, Adrian," I said impatiently, "it might be important."_

_He took a drag of his hideous clove cigarette and looked up at the ceiling. "I reach out to her mind and there's nothing there."_

"_So you can't find her … you can't connect?" I asked, seeking clarification._

"_Yes … no –" He stood up to replenish his drink. We waited for him to return to the sitting area, but he lingered by the bar, drinking the contents of his glass before refilling it again._

"_Well, which is it, Adrian?!" asked Christian curtly. He was rapidly losing patience with Lissa's cousin, who was well on his way to being plastered._

_Adrian scowled, shooting Christian a filthy look. "Watch your tone, firecrotch!"_

"_You don't get to call me that!" Christian yelled, "Only Rose does. Now, answer the damned question! Can you connect with her or not?"_

_Lissa placed her hand on her lover's knee in a calming gesture. "Christian," she cautioned softly._

_Adrian scraped a hand through his messy hair leaving it more disheveled than usual. "Give me a minute. Let me get my thoughts together." I nodded at Christian, asking him silently to restrain himself. "It's … just … there's nothing there!" he slurred, swaying slightly on his feet. "It probably doesn't make sense to any of you."_

_I leaned forward eagerly. "No. Adrian, it makes perfect sense. If Roza was truly dead or strigoi, it would be like the phone had been disconnected, but you're getting a … a busy signal."_

_Lissa had a confused look on her face. "How is that possible? Adrian can always connect eventually when he dream walks. He does it to me all the time." Christian's jaw and hands clenched as he glared at Adrian._

"_Yes, but Adrian can sense you. If you don't answer his call, it's because you're not sleeping. Does that sound about right, Adrian?"_

_He nodded and nearly fell over. "That's a simple anal-analogy, but yes, in essence (hiccup) that's (hiccup) correct." Lissa stood up and went to Adrian. She spoke to him quietly and he nodded, allowing his Queen and cousin to lead him back to his seat. Christian poured him a large glass of water from the carafe sitting on the coffee table._

"_Adrian, what if something was only blocking the line … running interference?" I asked, watching him drink the water. He grimaced at what I can only assume, he considered an unpleasant taste. Lissa poured him another one and handed it to him with a 'don't argue' expression on her face. "Would you still be able to connect or would you get a busy signal?"_

_He looked at me blearily, but he spoke with a little more coherency. "Well, it would depend on what the interference was. Alcohol does it for me, so conceivably, it might work the same way for someone else … but I've dream walked with Rose before when she's been drinking." I frowned at him disapprovingly. "Don't look at me that way, Belikov!" he snapped. "She asked me for the liquor ... I didn't force it on her!"_

"_Never mind!" Lissa yelled. "Get on with it, both of you."_

"_Adrian?" I prompted softly._

"_Well, if I had to guess, I'd say ... alcohol or drugs could interfere and if that happened, I'd probably get a busy signal. But it would have to be really heavy in their system for it to interfere to the point of darkness." I sat up. What darkness? I repeated my question to Adrian. "Well, when I said there was absolutely nothing, I meant I'm alone in a void."_

_I swore silently in Russian and rubbed my head in frustration. "Adrian … that's a very important piece of information you never explained before. A void is an entirely different matter. That's your busy signal." Adrian had a dumbfounded expression on his face and he replaced his water glass for the vodka glass before Lissa could stop him._

"_What are you thinking, Dimitri?" Lissa asked. She ignored Adrian, but her lips were pursed with disappointment._

"_One moment, Lissa. Adrian, could someone with a serious head injury cause this interference … this void you experience?"_

_He shrugged. "It's possible I suppose, especially if they were in a deeply unconscious state –" He trailed off as he got the drift of my line of questioning. "Like a coma," he breathed. He smacked at his forehead viciously with the palm of his hand. "Stupid. Stupid! STUPID ASSHOLE!"_

_I wanted to agree, but I couldn't. "Don't blame yourself, Adrian. It was only after I dreamed of Roza that the idea occurred to me either."_

"_Would one of you please tell me what the hell you're talking about?!" Lissa yelled, completely confused. "And what dream?"_

_Adrian answered. "That Rose is neither dead nor strigoi, but in a coma – a very deep coma."_

_Lissa gasped and collapsed against Christian. "But the bond –"_

"_It's possible she died for a short time, Lissa," I interjected. "It's happened before. It could have happened again." _

"_Where is she then?" Christian interjected._

"_I think I may have the answer to that. Lissa, did Roza ever tell you about my grandmother?"_

"_Yeva?" I nodded. "She only said that you'd told her that Yeva sometimes knows things." She gasped. "Has she seen Rose? Is that what you're saying?!"_

"_No … yes." I stopped for a moment while I organized my own thoughts. "Yes, I believe Yeva has seen Roza, but I didn't realize who she was talking about. When I visited my family in Russia, Yeva told me that I would find love again in the garden where the roses grow. She also told me I would be a good husband and father and not to give up – that I would be happy once again."_

_Christian looked at me with pity. "Dimitri, your grandmother could have been talking about anyone. Rose isn't the only woman out there for you." I scowled at him for his blasphemy, but he talked on. "What about my Aunt Tasha? Yeva could have meant her. You've been friends with Tasha for years; she loves you and she has a rose garden. I suppose Yeva __**could**__ have been talking about Rose, but really, Dimitri, how much faith do you place in your grandmother's rambl … um predictions?" Christian asked._

_I ignored Christian's slur about Yeva, understanding most people's skepticism. "She's one hundred percent accurate … ninety percent of the time, but her predictions aren't fated. Different decisions by key players can change the outcome."_

"_Exactly … fate and key players," Christian stated. "Yeva never actually said Rose's name. You're just assuming she was talking about her … and I bet you didn't tell her that Rose was taken, did you?" I blushed guiltily. "Thought so. Dimitri, Yeva just said you'd find love again. You know dhampirs are infertile together, so you could not be a father to Rose's children … even if she was still alive," he argued rationally._

_Lissa had been looking at Christian as he spoke and her face changed from hesitant optimism to disappointment as she recognized the soundness of Christian's speech. "Would you call Yeva, Dimitri ... ask her if she's seen anything else?" Lissa whispered, hope still evident in her voice._

"_I don't need to. I had my own prophetic vision," I confessed. They all stared at me like I'd gone off the deep end. I recited the content of my dream on Roza's birthday. I left nothing out. Reaching over to my coat, I pulled a folded sheet of paper from the inside pocket and opened it. "I made this," I said, handing it to Lissa. _

_She stared at it for a long time and tears trickled from her eyes. "This is Rose from your dream?" she whispered._

_I nodded. "Yes."_

"_She looks so frail," Christian commented._

_Lissa passed the pencil portrait to Adrian. His hands shook as he stared at the drawing of Roza with very short hair and a scarred face. He made a guttural noise of distress and sprang from his chair, disappearing onto the balcony. The portrait drifted to the floor. We heard an agonizing howl of heartbreak, and then the sound of expensive crystal shattering. He'd thrown his vodka glass at the wall._

_Lissa picked up the portrait and stared at it again. She chewed on her lip as she silently revised everything we knew. I studied the floor wondering where to look for Roza first. North. I would head north into Canada and work my way south to Montana._

"_Dimitri?" I looked up, responding to Lissa's soft address. "You told us that dream-Rose said she woke up but can't remember. If that's the case, why can't Adrian connect with her?"_

"_I've been thinking about that too. Drugs might impede the connection as Adrian suggested."_

_Lissa shook her head vehemently. "No, Rose is NOT a drug user. Never!"_

"_Not illicit drugs, Lissa … medication."_

"_Belikov is right," Adrian said as he reentered the room. His face was flushed and his eyes were glassy. He walked toward us and collapsed into his chair. "Medications that target the brain could prevent a connection. Remember, Lissa, when you took those anti-depressants to control the spirit darkness. You couldn't perform magic and I couldn't enter your dreams either."_

_Lissa gasped and her eyes widened. "So, if Rose was alive, she could be depressed and on medication."_

"_Wouldn't you be depressed if you'd lost your memory?" Christian said, "I know I would be."_

_Adrian shook his head. "I don't think anti-depressants are the answer. __**If**__ Rose is alive and not strigoi like we thought, then it's something else. With Lissa, I couldn't connect, but I could still sense her. She just didn't answer."_

"_So how do we find her?" Christian asked, playing along with our theory._

"_Contact the human authorities," I said. "See if there are any open cases of unknown female victims –" Lissa's face paled and she shook her head negatively. "What? Why not?!" I roared, rearing to my feet angrily. "It's the quickest way to find her!"_

"_Dimitri, I-I can't authorize that," she declared sadly._

_Adrian stared at his cousin in confusion and horror. Only Christian seemed to know what Lissa was thinking. Apparently, Adrian's ears and eyes weren't on the pulse of __**everything**__ happening at Court._

"_I-I don't understand," I said. I felt sure that Lissa would support any plan to find Roza. She stood up to pace the room, twisting her hands agitatedly. She eventually halted in front of me._

"_Dimitri … with the strigoi using humans to do their dirty work, our society is skirting the edges of the human world more and more. Twice in the last several months we've come very close to discovery. Too close," she added. "The human authorities are less inclined to reject what they believe to be impossible, and they are asking questions. The Alchemists and our best Compulsors had a tough time cleaning up after the second strigoi attack at Court – and I'm not talking about the deaths of our people."_

"_Then what are you talking about, Lissa?!" Adrian snapped, "because I don't understand –" _

_Lissa interrupted, her expression grave. "Royal Court was photographed by the human government's satellites."_

"_What?" I breathed in shock. "How? The wards –"_

"_The wards were broken," Lissa said. "The magic that prevents strigoi entering our homes and compounds also prevents human technology from discovering us –"_

"_Except when they're not working," I said, as understanding dawned._

"_Yes," confirmed Christian, "and with the advancement in human technology, it's becoming increasingly difficult to hide in plain sight." _

_"Human books and films about the supernatural aren't helping our cause either," Lissa added. "Between Twilight, True Blood and Harry Potter, the younger human generation is enamored with anything … 'other'."_

"_Moroi and dhampir teenagers aren't much better," remarked Adrian. "I heard a group of moroi girls talking excitedly about an appearance by Robert Pattinson – that actor from the Twilight movies – you know, the guy who plays Edward Cullen."_

_Christian's brow rose and he smirked. "I'm surprised that you know who Edward Cullen is, Adrian. That you know the actor's name is even more disturbing. A person might think that you're not quite the ladies man you profess to be –"_

"_Shove it where the sun doesn't shine, Christian!" Adrian hissed._

"_Alright, enough!" I said, losing patience with their bickering. "Lissa, I understand your concern about being discovered, but how is that the same as making inquiries about Rose?"_

_She sighed. "We think we found all of the human officials who know about the satellite photographs. They were compelled to forget and the photographs were deleted … but we can't be entirely certain we got to everyone. If Rose has been under the constant medical attention of human doctors for five months, then they've likely noticed her … differences."_

"_It's not the first time a dhampir or moroi has been treated by human doctors in an emergency, Lissa," I argued._

"_No, but it is the first time in modern history that one of us may have been cared for exclusively by humans. They would have tested her blood … checked her DNA to identify her. That blood is now a permanent record in government databases and medical facilities. After five months, our resources might not be enough to erase them ... even if we could find the correct samples … and that's supposing Rose is still living."_

"_She is!" I stated resolutely._

"_The police would have files on her as well," added Christian, ignoring me. "They would investigate anyone with severe injuries."_

"_What I want to know," said Adrian, "is what happened to that bastard Nathan Voda? If Rose was found by the authorities – what happened to the strigoi who took her?"_

_Lissa reached for her phone._

"_Who are you calling?" Christian asked._

"_Hans Croft."_

"_Why?"_

"_Hans! It's Queen Vasilisa … Everything is fine. Listen, I'd like you to do something for me and I want you to keep it quiet … No … Hans, call the Alchemists and find out whether the human authorities have identified any strigoi activity in the past five months … Hmm, restrict the inquiry to the Rocky Mountains … Yes, okay, thanks." She hung up. "He'll call me back shortly."_

_We all waited silently and impatiently for the phone to ring. Adrian and I stood up and began pacing. Lissa sat staring at Rose's portrait. Christian rubbed her shoulders comfortingly, but I could tell he was skeptical and he didn't want Lissa to get her hopes up._

"_Do you think she'll be okay?" Lissa asked after awhile._

_I swallowed. "I think so … yes. She said she was safe … for now. That's what Yeva told me too. She also said they were safe and I would find them when the time was right."_

"_What-what about the child … do you believe she's pregnant?" Lissa asked me._

_My jaw clenched and I glared at Adrian – the only likely suspect. Yet, I didn't __**want**__ to believe that Roza cheated on me so soon after we'd been together. I was sure she loved me as much as I loved her._

_Adrian held his hands up defensively. "Hey! Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with it!"_

"_Well it had to be a moroi and you're the only moroi I can think of that Roza might –" I had to swallow the bile rising around the next words, "– sleep with," I growled._

"_It wasn't me, I tell you! You're forgetting, Belikov that Rose is shadow-kissed. Her physiology was changed when Lissa brought her back the first time. What is impossible for other dhampir females may not be for her … and she loved you, you cradle-robbing asshole. She'd never cheat on you. Believe me – I tried."_

_I wanted to pummel Adrian, but I was also stunned by his insight. Is it possible? Could Roza's child be mine? She said it was. What did she say the girl's name was … Molly? Yes, Molly. "I'm going to be a father," I breathed. My legs felt weak and I reached out to steady myself against a table._

_Lissa's phone rang and she scrambled to answer it. "Yes … Hans, what did you find out?" She listened for a long time and her face fell. "Okay, thank you, Hans … Yes, goodbye." She exhaled and tossed her phone onto the table. "Nothing. There have been no police reports suggesting strigoi activity." _

_I was afraid of that. Another dead-end. I left my post by the table and collapsed into my chair, aching with disappointment. "It doesn't matter. I'll keep searching for her," I told Lissa._

"_But the Rocky Mountains span three thousand miles in length and two countries – she could be anywhere north of St Vladimir's," Adrian said. "That's a lot of ground to cover ... and how do you know they're even still in North America?"_

"_I don't, but I'll search every square mile of this planet if I have to!" I promised. "I know Nathan took Rose north. Lissa, you felt the bond break about two days after he took her, so they probably got as far as Canada before he tried to turn her or kill her. I'll start there."_

_Lissa pinned me with a stern face – the face of a Queen with enormous responsibilities and endless worries. "You have one year, Dimitri and then I need you back. I'm sorry, but the strigoi are crucifying us. We need guardians of your caliber to keep us all safe." _

_I considered for a brief moment telling the Queen to go to hell, but I didn't. This was Lissa – Rose's best friend – and I knew she wouldn't give me a deadline if she had any other choice. On the other hand, had it been Tatiana making the same demand, I would have resigned on the spot and said to hell with the consequences._

"_I will ensure that your salary is paid," Lissa continued. "You'll receive travelling expenses … and you can keep the SUV, but you must be discreet in your inquiries. If you don't find her after one year, you must return to your duties. I know I'm asking a lot, Dimitri, but guardian numbers are dropping and I'm running out of options. We need you – __**I **__need you. After the year is up and if you haven't found her … I will assign you to St Vladimir's. You can continue your search from there. You have my word."_

_I believed her. I had a year and the resources to continue my search. It was more than I expected. "I accept your offer, Your Majesty. Thank you."_

"_No … __**thank you**__, Dimitri. I know how hard this is for you to accept. It was hard for me to ask it of you."_

* * *

I'd left Pennsylvania the next morning and headed west toward Montana to collect clothes and weapons from St Vladimir's. Afterward, I'd driven every major highway from one end of the Rocky Mountains to the other. I concentrated on larger cities at first – those with major hospitals, and I searched every public rose garden I could find … and some of the private ones. There'd been no sign of Roza … or Nathan.

Despite my year of searching, I'd never gotten any closer to finding Roza than Eduard Perez in Oklahoma. I'd spent months in Canada and equal time in Russia and Romania, yet no one had seen them … not even other strigoi. It was as if they'd disappeared off the face of the earth. The other mysterious disappearance concerned Sonya Karp. There'd been no sightings of her either and no guardian anywhere had confessed to killing her. Her file at Guardian headquarters was eventually marked "missing".

With no further leads to follow, I requested a meeting with Roza's father. Ibrahim Mazur refused me at first, having heard from Janine Hathaway about my relationship with his underage daughter, but I begged him to reconsider. He had the money and the connections to do things I wasn't able to. In hindsight, I may have been happier had I never met him. Rather than helping as I'd hoped he would, he'd broken my heart instead … this time permanently.

"_Tell me why I should help the domuz," he spat (I winced, but felt I deserved the title) "who was romancing my teenage daughter? You were her mentor, her teacher and her protector! She did not need you to be her lover too!" he added slyly. _

_I felt my face flush guiltily. Zmey's mouth tightened and his eyes glittered black with murder, but I refused to look away – I deserved his censure. He smiled evilly and stepped forward. Suddenly, I feared for my existence. Shit! I thought in Russian. I could face down a pack of strigoi with hardly a shudder, but one Turkish mobster who just happened to my girl's father struck fear into my bladder. How the fuck did he find out about us?_

"_I see from your expression, that it's true!" he hissed, his breath hot on my face. "I'd hoped that Janine was mistaken, but I can see she wasn't. What do you have to say for yourself, Belikov ... and don't feed me any line of bullshit. If you want my help, you'll tell me the truth or you won't live to see the sun rise tomorrow."_

_I believed him. "No," I admitted, swallowing with difficulty. "You're not wrong. We were … very close," I said, choosing my words wisely. "We fought our feelings for many months before we finally succumbed. I love Rose deeply, and she loved … loves me just as much."_

"_She was a child!" he yelled. "You crossed a line, Belikov. You should have known better!"_

"_She was a woman!" I snapped back. "Age for a dhampir guardian is only a number … especially for Rose who'd seen and done things no child should ever experience." My chest heaved with emotion._

_Zmey stepped back, his black eyes narrowed and considering. He leaned against the table and lit a cigar, puffing on it slowly as he contemplated what I'd said through a haze of blue-gray smoke. "Yes, I heard about Rose's adventures out in the world on her own. I admired her moxie. She was a lot more like me than her mother would have liked." He chuckled. "Kidnapping the Dragomir Princess and keeping her hidden for two years took real guts and ingenuity."_

_I frowned. Did he not know about Spokane? "Mr Mazur, I wasn't talking about that ... and she didn't kidnap the Princess. They decided to leave together to keep Vasilisa safe from Victor Dashkov. I was talking about what happened in Spokane." Zmey's expression was clueless. "You really don't know, do you?"_

"_Know what, Belikov?" he snapped, irritated that he was apparently missing vital information. I got the feeling that didn't happen often. I inhaled, and prepared to recite the story. Perhaps after hearing about Rose's courageous actions, Zmey might be slightly more … forgiving. I could only hope. _

"_Two winters past, just after Christmas, the St Vladimir students and faculty went to a ski lodge in Idaho when strigoi activity threatened the academy. I disclosed some information about a possible strigoi nest to Rose. We argued and in a pique of anger, she told her friend Mason what she knew. He and another novice went to Spokane with a moroi girl whose mother was recently killed, to hunt strigoi and to take their revenge."_

"_Admirable, but misguided," Zmey muttered. He pulled out a chair at the table and gestured for me to take one. I obliged and continued telling the story._

"_Yes. Rose and Christian Ozera discovered what they'd done and followed them to Spokane. Unfortunately, they were all captured by strigoi, who kept them captive for days and fed off one of Rose's friends. Eventually, Rose came up with an escape plan and they managed to free themselves, except Rose was intercepted by an ancient strigoi called Isaiah and his younger minion. She told her friends to run out to the safety of the sun while she distracted the strigoi, but her friend Mason came back to help her. He was killed instantly … Isaiah snapped his neck, and Rose was devastated."_

_Zmey muttered in Turkish. I wasn't fluent, but I understood enough Turkish to recognize brutal profanity when I heard it. "What happened next?" he demanded when he'd calmed down._

"_Rose had to fight for her life. She had no stake; she was weak from thirst and hunger and she'd just watched her best friend die." I paused, remembering Rose crouching over Mason's body protectively. "I was so proud of her. I knew she was a great fighter, but she surpassed even my expectations."_

"_How so?" Zmey asked curiously._

"_She took a blunt sword from the wall and she managed to decapitate both of the strigoi with the help of Mia Rinaldi – a moroi water user who distracted Isaiah long enough for Rose to defeat him. When we arrived, she wouldn't let anyone near Mason's body. She received two molnija marks for those kills and she hadn't even graduated."_

_Zmey surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye with his flashy neck scarf. I pretended not to see. "That's my kiz," he whispered proudly. "I didn't know ... Janine never told me." He sighed. "I missed so much of my daughter's life, Dimitri … at Janine's request, not by choice. I was only waiting until Rosemarie turned eighteen to seek her out."_

"_She always wondered about you," I told him. "She said that you must have had dark eyes and amazing hair. She was very vain about her hair," I added, smiling._

_He stood up to stretch. "It's a Mazur trait," he agreed, raking a hand through his coiffed mane that was so much like Rose's silky tresses. "What did you argue about?"_

"_Pardon?"_

"_You said you and Rose argued. What about?"_

_I sighed. "Natasha Ozera offered me a job as her guardian. I considered it briefly to protect Rose. Somehow, Janine found out and she told Rose, who was livid and terrified I would leave her. She told me to take the job, but –"_

"_She didn't mean it," Zmey completed perceptively._

"_No, she didn't."_

"_What was Janine doing there?" Zmey asked. "I thought she was guarding Lord Szelsky?"_

"_She was … is, but Lord Szelsky was visiting St Vladimir's that Christmas and Janine was with him. When we went to Idaho, they came with us. Rose hadn't seen her mother in years. She … didn't react well," I admitted. Zmey snorted, probably understanding better than anyone how difficult Janine Hathaway could be to get along with._

We spoke for hours that day as I told him about his daughter. Zmey produced two glasses and a bottle of _Raki or Arrack _– a potent, anise flavored Turkish brandy that could strip rust off of iron. I matched him glass for glass as I told him how Rose had helped to save Lissa from Victor Dashkov. He hadn't known about that either. I told him about her training and her determination to be the best guardian possible. I told him about Rose-logic, which confounded even the most rational person and he laughed uproariously at some of her pranks and revenge tactics. I told him how she loved the sun and how she missed it on the vampire timetable. I told him that she hated her full name and not even her teachers were brave enough to use it. I told him she'd despised Queen Tatiana. He'd huffed and muttered, _"Smart girl, that one."_

After five hours of talking, and one bottle of hundred-proof _Raki_, Zmey had delivered his decision. I'd explained about my search for Roza, the Eduard Perez intel, Yeva's vision and my own prophetic dream. I told him of all the false leads I'd followed; the inquiries I'd made, and my trips to Romania and Russia – all of which had proved fruitless. Finally, I'd sworn to him that I truly believed his daughter was alive and only waiting for us to find her.

"_I love Rose, Mr Mazur, but I'm out of options. Please help me find her."_

_Zmey sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was silent for a long time as he drummed his fingers on the table and considered everything I'd told him. When he spoke at last, it caught me by surprise. "I believe you love my daughter, Dimitri, I do … and that's why I'm __**not**__ going to help you." My lips parted in shock and I paled, but he continued unabated. "I know Yeva ... and she's uncannily accurate," he admitted, "but not this time. I know for a fact that Rose Hathaway exists no longer."_

"_But my dream –" I protested._

_Zmey held up a hand. "I know that you want to believe it, Dimitri, but your mind simply gave you what you craved most – contact with the woman you loved … on her birthday no less." He leaned forward and grasped my shoulder in what was supposed to be a comforting grasp, but I only saw it as a betrayal. "Rose is gone, Dimitri, and she's __**not**__ coming back. You need to let it go. It's for the best. If I thought there was any benefit to continuing your search, I would help you – but there's not. Rose died, Dimitri. She died."_

_I could hardly articulate my thoughts and I'd lost the power of speech, when something Zmey said struck me as odd. "How do you __**know**__ Rose is dead? What __**proof**__ do you have!? No one's seen them –"_

"_I just do, Dimitri," he replied coldly, releasing my shoulder. "Leave it at that."_

"_I can't ... I won't!" I roared. Without consciously making the decision to do so, I bolted from my seat and tackled Zmey off his chair. He fought back, and he was surprisingly strong, agile and skilled in combat. The alcohol in my system impeded me, and he had me pinned to the floor in mere seconds, his forearm at my throat and his knee digging into my chest. He must've had the constitution of an ox – the Raki seemingly not affecting him in any negative way. It wasn't often that anyone was able to defeat me. Rose had been an exception. Apparently her father was as well._

_He glared at me menacingly. "I'll let your mistake pass this one time, Dimitri, because I understand your grief and anger … but don't you __**ever **__try that again, or I __**will**__ kill you. Am I clear?"_

_I grunted. "Yes." Fuck! What was I doing?_

_He let me go and jumped to his feet, adjusting his clothing and combing his hair into place with his fingers. I stood up and rubbed my throat. I'd have a bruise there tomorrow. Zmey pulled a file from the depths of his briefcase and dropped it onto the table. "There is my proof. That's a police report about a crash involving a car and a truck that occurred two days after Rose was kidnapped. There were two unidentifiable fatalities."_

_My heart stopped and tears sprang forth in my eyes. No! _

"_Yes," Zmey replied. I'd unknowingly gasped my denial aloud. Zmey continued to speak in an unemotional voice. "The bodies were burned beyond all recognition, but my own people were able to confirm it. The ash, which was all that was left, was confirmed as being strigoi. One male and one female. The woman was Rose."_

_I felt my heart thumping erratically in my chest. It couldn't be true. I would know if she was dead … wouldn't I? Vasilisa believed her gone after so long and no concrete leads to follow. So did Janine Hathaway. Hell, Rose's mother hadn't even entertained the idea that Rose could still be alive. She'd left and gone about her business, returning to her charge as though nothing soul-destroying had ever happened. Christian had always been skeptical, and even Adrian was beginning to give up hope. Could it be true? Was Rose turned strigoi and then finally killed only hours later?_

"_How-how do you know the woman was Rose?" I stuttered, my voice barely discernible._

_Zmey paused. "The Alchemists on my payroll proved it. I gave them a DNA sample taken from Rose's belongings – some hair in her brush. They were able to acquire enough evidence to confirm a match. There's a copy of their report in the file too."_

_I swallowed the bile rising into my throat from my churning gut. "How … why haven't you told anyone what you know?"_

_He sighed, obviously frustrated by my continual questioning. "I had my reasons, Dimitri ... and most everyone already believed that Rose was dead or strigoi, so it seemed pointless to bring it up again. Janine refuses to discuss Rose and until today, I never realized how obsessed you'd become."_

"_Because she's NOT dead!" I screamed in denial._

_Zmey looked at me with pity and something that might have been frustration. "She IS dead, and that's why I __**am**__ telling you what I know. Mourn for Rose and then let her go, Dimitri. Find a new purpose in life and move on. It's what Rose would have wanted if she loved you as much as you said she did." He pulled his coat on over his flashy suit and closed his briefcase. Our interview was over. "You can have the police file, Dimitri," he said, "perhaps it will give you the closure you're looking for. I'd appreciate it if you didn't share what you know with any others. If the moroi found out how close the humans came to discovering the existence of strigoi, there'd be mass panic."_

Zmey had left me in my misery with only a file for my trouble, and a killer hangover the next day. I hadn't seen or spoken to him since then. Our meeting took place a year and half after Rose was taken and just days before Lissa expected me to accept a new guardian position. I'd read the police report and the crash of the car had been gruesome – unsurvivable – even for strigoi. Only the truck driver survived because he was in the drivers cab a considerable distance from the high-speed impact. He'd been mildly injured and had jumped clear before the fire took hold. The report said he didn't even see the car before it slammed into the turning trailer. He'd been unable to tell the authorities anything of any import about the victims or what happened.

As instructed, I'd never shared what Zmey told me with anyone else, not even the Queen. Strigoi killed in a car crash investigated by human authorities, which came just months before Court was photographed by those same humans, would have instilled mass panic ... and Lissa's possession of the throne was still new and tenuous. If the council members knew about this too, they'd ask her to abdicate her position. I had a greater appreciation now for her decision not to publicly search for Rose. The world just wasn't ready for the reality of vampires.

On my way back to St Vladimir's, I stopped at a bank in Missoula that the moroi exerted no control over, and I rented a safety deposit box. I slid the file inside and locked it securely, keeping it safe from prying eyes. If it became necessary … only then I would tell the Queen. In the meantime, I pushed aside the voice in my head shouting that my actions were treasonous, but, it was for the best. If she knew about this … Lissa would freak out, to coin a phrase Rose had often used.

I went back to St Vladimir's with my heart breaking and slowly accepted that Rose really was gone forever. Her bond with Vasilisa had broken proving that Rose had indeed 'died'. Adrian was unable to find her in the dream ether despite the existence of the mysterious void, and her own father had definitive proof that she was dead. Yeva had imparted no more words of wisdom before she'd died last summer, and I'd never had another prophetic dream … at least, not one that I remembered.

I'd found myself letting Roza go as Zmey had suggested … and I gradually moved on with my life, but I never forgot her. She was the love of my life and there'd never be another woman like her … not for me. She'd been my soul mate. My perfect match. My one and only.

* * *

I arrived at St Vladimir's two and half hours after ending my phone call with the Queen. It was early-afternoon and our meeting was scheduled at 4 p.m. When I pulled up to the gates, a guardian I didn't know came out of the guard hut to meet me. I pressed the button on my door to lower the window.

"State your business!" he said gruffly.

"My name is Guardian Dimitri Belikov." The other guardian eyed me with mistrust, noting my casual attire of jeans and dark red, long-sleeved t-shirt. Definitely _not_ the usual guardian attire.

He held out his hand and barked, "Credentials!" I fished my identification wallet from the glove compartment and handed it to him. He walked back to the guard hut to scan the holographic seal on my photo Id card. The other item in the wallet was my guardian badge.

Guardians were issued with credentials and rank insignia ever since a shrewd strigoi compelled a moroi tailor to hand over several new guardian uniforms. Five strigoi wore the uniforms, disguising their red eyes and pale skin, and simply walked into Royal Court – no questions asked after their human lackeys brought down the wards. The havoc they'd wreaked before being discovered had been horrific. Ten moroi were killed and the strigoi intruders had gotten within two rooms of the queen before being apprehended. Three guardians had died that day. Vasilisa had begun infusing the wards with spirit after that battle.

The strigoi demonstrated how easy it was to infiltrate what was assumed to be an impenetrable compound. There were actually two lines of wards at Court – the outer barrier and an inner barrier. The strigoi had breached both of them. After that day, all guardians were issued with credentials they were required to carry at all times. No guardian got in or out of a moroi compound without their movements being monitored.

Different colored badges were assigned to guardians depending upon their type of service. Guardians assigned to the Queen and her immediate family, which included Christian and her newly discovered half-sister Jill Mastrano Dragomir, were issued with gold badges. Gold credentials were highly prized amongst guardians. Other Royal Court guardians were given silver badges. Academy guardians had blue badges; guardians to royals had red badges and guardians to non-royal moroi were given purple badges. Novice guardians were issued with green badges, and special guardians – like me – were issued with black badges. Special guardians had the second highest security clearance and were rarely denied entrance to any facility. Only gold guardians outranked me, and Hans Croft outranked us all.

The gate guard returned and handed me my credentials. "Thank you, Special Guardian Belikov. Have a good day." The gates opened and I drove through, turning left toward the cabin in the woods where I lived when on I was on campus. I noted the royal jet in the distance. It was parked on the tarmac at the academy airport gleaming white in the weak autumn sunshine. Vasilisa had made good time. She must have been in the air when she'd called me, I concluded. The Queen making a visit to meet with a guardian was unprecedented and I wondered with greater urgency what could be so important.

Dropping my belongings onto the bed, I quickly stripped, shaved and showered before dressing in my formal guardian uniform comprised of a black military style suit, white shirt and black tie. My rank insignia – two silver stakes crossing each other inside a circle – were attached to the upper lapels of my jacket. After pulling my hair back into a neat pony tail at the nape of my neck, I grabbed my credentials, phone and keys and strode out of the cabin to meet with the Queen. She'd texted me the details earlier, and I entered Kirova's boardroom just shy of the appointed time. Ellen Kirova and Alberta Petrov were already in attendance, both yawning widely – it was technically still night for the two women. Each had a cup of very black, steaming hot coffee in front of them.

"Good morning, ladies," I greeted.

"My, you're chipper," Alberta groaned. Her eyes drooped wearily. "Don't you ever get tired, Belikov?"

I smiled. "I'm more accustomed to being awake during the day. I adjust my sleep patterns accordingly." As a Special Guardian, some of my work required me to be awake during the day to investigate strigoi activity amongst human communities. And, since humans were most active when the sun was up, the majority of my inquiries about any sightings were also made during the daylight hours.

Headmistress Kirova sat virtually insensible at the long table and didn't bother to greet me. She wasn't at her best first thing in the morning I'd noted over the years. She swallowed half her coffee and chased it down with a jigger of donor blood, shuddering delicately.

I'd just poured my own coffee when the doors opened and Queen Vasilisa swept into the room holding a thick leather document folder. Immediately Kirova and Alberta sprang to their feet – their sleepiness forgotten.

"Your Majesty," we three greeted formally in unison.

She took a seat at the head of the table and beckoned us toward her. "Sit, sit," she said, gesturing with her hands. "That will be all, gentlemen," she said, addressing two guardians who were stationed inside the doors. "You may wait outside at the end of the hall. Please don't let anyone enter until I tell you otherwise." The senior guardian hesitated, but bowed respectfully and retreated when Vasilisa raised a censuring eyebrow.

"Thank you for coming. I realize it's early, but this was too important."

"Of course, ma'am. We are _always_ at your service," Kirova replied in a simpering tone.

I mentally rolled my eyes, much as Roza would have done, except Rose wouldn't have cared who saw her do it. Ellen Kirova was full of her own self-importance and promoted herself as being the woman behind the Queen, who'd cared for the young princess when her only family was tragically killed. Her words, not mine. Her posturing was tiresome and in truth, she cared naught about Vasilisa until it became apparent she would be the next Queen. Prior to that, Kirova was simply humiliated that the Dragomir princess had been 'lost' on her watch. Her reputation had been somewhat redeemed when I'd brought Vasilisa and Rose back to the academy five years earlier.

"Majesty, you sounded so urgent on the phone earlier," I said. "Are you sure that you're not in any danger –"

She waved her hand dismissively. "I'm _fine_, Guardian Belikov," she said formally. We usually only used first names when in private. "But something has been brought to my attention. It's rather worrying. I don't know how we missed it … we employ people to keep an eye on things like this!"

My brow crinkled in confusion. "What things, ma'am?"

She opened the document folder, removing a book and a file and held the book up so we could see it. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alberta stiffen and her eyes widened in alarm before her guardian mask slipped back into place. That was … odd.

"_This_ was print-published about three months ago. A year before that, it was published as an eBook," Vasilisa explained. The dust cover of the book depicted a handsome young man and a beautiful girl dressed in black leather, holding stakes at shoulder level. The title of the book was, _"The Guardians"_.

"I'm not sure I understand ma'am. Human authors are always publishing books about the supernatural –"

"That's true, Guardian Belikov, but not like this one. There are things in the novel that align too closely with our society to be coincidence. Guardians. Silver stakes. Elemental magic and three vampire races. Its rise to the top of the best seller list has been … meteoric. Millions of eBook copies have been sold. Teens and young adults all over the world are lining up to buy the print version. The printers can't keep up with the demand … or so I'm told," she advised us.

"Outrageous!" Kirova gasped.

Vasilisa ignored her. "The Council think it was written by a human with inside knowledge of moroi-dhampir society. _Thank God_ she didn't use the terms moroi or strigoi, but she refers to the guardians as dhampirs. Her second book in the series is due out before Christmas, and there are rumors that Hollywood has bought the movie rights! I don't need _this_ happening now!" she shrieked, slamming the book onto the table. "This entire situation is disastrous!"

The Queen took a moment to catch her breath, rubbing her forehead as though it pained her. It may have ... she looked paler than usual. I took advantage of the lag to take a closer look at the novel. "May I see the book?" I asked the queen calmly. I'd never seen her so agitated over something not related to strigoi activity. She nodded and pushed it toward me.

The author was R.M. Bellcamp. I read the blurb on the back cover. It said that the book was about dhampirs (half human, half vampire) who were guardians to a race of mortal 'peaceful' vampires called Aos'si who wielded elemental magic. The guardians hunted the immortal Dearg vampires to protect the Aos'si and rid the world of evil. The hero was a young man named Quentin and the heroine was young woman called Roxy.

The blurb made me smile. I opened the book and read the first few pages of chapter one that appeared to be narrated by the heroine of the story. The prose was engaging, capturing the reader's attention almost immediately as she introduced the story with youthful humor. I could see the appeal amongst young people. I could also see the similarities to our society as 'Roxy' gave the reader some background history, but I failed to see the urgency. There was nothing I'd read so far that pointed to any danger.

I looked up and saw Alberta chewing at her lower lip, almost nervously as she stared at the book in my hands. I don't recall _ever_ seeing her display discomfort so visibly in all the years I'd known her. She brushed it off by shifting her attention quickly to the Queen when she caught me watching her. I frowned. What was going on with Guardian Petrov?

I shrugged and returned my attention to the book I held. It wasn't the first time vampires had been used in popular literature or movies and it wouldn't be the last. The internet was crammed with information about vampires – over six million pages to be precise. When the popularity of the Web boomed in the 80s and 90s, the moroi had taken steps to supplant (the generally accurate) moroi-strigoi folklore with misinformation. So far, it had worked to distract any human beliefs that our species existed.

"How can we help you, Majesty?" I asked, handing the book back to her. I assumed she had a plan that involved me, Alberta and Kirova … though what help Kirova would be was beyond my comprehension.

Vasilisa looked at me gratefully. "I want to know more about this author. If someone from our society did reveal our secrets then we have a huge problem. It's vital that we find out what she knows … _if _she knows anything, and we don't have much time in which to do it."

"Of course," I agreed.

The Queen opened the file in front of her and held up a sheet of paper. "This is a profile sheet about the author. It's not much … she's rather reclusive and United States privacy laws have tightened up in recent years. The Alchemists are finding it difficult to gain access to personal information. Her pen name is R.M. Bellcamp, but her real name is Rosa Campbell." I gasped when I heard the given name and Lissa glanced at me sadly. The Queen handed out copies of the profile sheet to each of us.

"Rosa Campbell is approximately twenty-two years old and lives in Montana, which is convenient … in the town of Whitefish. I believe it's about three hours north of here," she said, looking at me for confirmation. I nodded. "Her parents are Doctors Nicholas Dillard and Bridget Hanson. She was orphaned and they adopted her. She has a three year old daughter called Maili," she recited, pronouncing the child's unusual name as _Mylee_. "She doesn't discuss the child's father and he's not named on the birth certificate. Ms Campbell lives near Whitefish Lake with her daughter. Apart from being an author – which few people in Whitefish seem to know about – she is an accomplished horse rider, plays piano decently and teaches self defense classes to women at the local community center."

"Do we have a photograph, Majesty?" Alberta asked quietly. Her hands were below the table and I saw her cross her fingers. I studied her curiously while we waited for the answer.

Lissa shook her head. "No. When the Alchemists sent one of their agents to investigate, he caught the attention of the local sheriff. He didn't take kindly to a strange man asking questions. He became suspicious when he saw our man taking notes and holding a camera. The sheriff … escorted the agent to the town's borders," Vasilisa said with irritation.

I smirked inwardly. The Alchemists liked to believe they were stealthy and all knowing because they'd collected a great deal of information, but pen pushers weren't generally known for being covert private investigators.

"Dimitri, you're being reassigned," the Queen said suddenly, surprising me. "Despite Ms Campbell's efforts to protect her identity, someone knows who she is and has been stalking her in recent months. Her publisher is insisting upon a body guard. Congratulations, Dimitri. Your new charge is a human."

Kirova and Alberta both gasped. "What?!" I breathed in stunned surprise. The Queen's decree was unprecedented. Never, in our entire history, had a guardian been assigned to protect a human. "I don't understand, ma'am. Why wouldn't we just … retrieve Ms Campbell and compel her to tell us what she knows?"

She sighed tiredly. "I considered that, but she's too well known in her home town and she has a child. If she just disappears … her family, the police and her publisher will fly into a panic and it will be all over the news. I can't risk it … not yet," she qualified. "Hans Croft has arranged for you to replace the body guard hired by the publisher."

The Queen handed me a thick envelope. "In that packet is the information we have on Ms Campbell and your new credentials. You'll use your own name, but you are employed by Trident Guardian Services. They're based in New York and offer body guard services to celebrities and wealthy humans. Guardian Croft has taken the liberty of producing references for you, qualifications and a curriculum vitae that will stand up to scrutiny if anyone attempts to verify the details."

"I understand."

"You'll leave immediately. Ms Campbell is reluctantly expecting you tomorrow. Apparently she's not happy about her publisher's decision, but they forced her into it … something about a non-endangerment clause in her contract. You'll be staying in her home, and basically you'll be on duty 24/7, but you'll sleep when she sleeps and go where she goes. Find out everything you can, Dimitri. Befriend her and gain her confidence and do it quickly. Report back to me regularly and only me, do you understand?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I understand." She nodded in satisfaction. "And if I can't win her confidence or find information of any value – what then?" I asked.

"Then, we'll have to go to Plan B."

"Which is?" asked Alberta, her guardian mask firmly in place. Vasilisa turned to address her.

"That's where you come into this, Guardian Petrov. I want you to set up a cell here at St Vladimir's ready for a human woman and a small child if it becomes necessary to … detain them."

Alberta glanced at the Queen aghast. She turned to me seeking silent advice, but I had none to give her. I, too, thought that the Queen was giving this author and her books unnecessary attention. I feared it would backfire on us.

"What is _my_ role in this, Your Majesty?" Kirova asked eagerly. She was rejoicing because she'd been taken into the Queen's confidence.

"Your role, Headmistress Kirova is to keep our visitors a secret from the students if Plan B becomes necessary. You'll make sure that every comfort is extended to our guests, including medical attention." Vasilisa turned her head slightly to one side and she caught Kirova's gaze. "You are not to speak of this matter to anyone not in this room, Ellen. Do you understand?" Kirova nodded dully. Her eyes were glazed over as Vasilisa's compulsion took hold.

"Yes, I understand."

Vasilisa smiled. "Good. You will forget everything you've heard here today, until I tell you to remember. Do you understand?"

Kirova nodded like an automaton. "Yes, I understand."

Lissa grinned, pleased with her compulsion. "Excellent. Ellen, I want you to leave this room and return to your apartments. You are to wait there until it's time to begin your work day."

"Yes, ma'am," she slurred.

"Oh, and, Ellen, you will forget that I was ever here today. You will only remember, _the Queen is at Court where she always is._ Do you understand?"

Kirova blinked. "The Queen is at Court. I understand." She stood up from the table and left the room. Lissa turned to Alberta whose eyes widened, likely believing she was the next target.

"Guardian Petrov, please follow Kirova and make sure she gets back to her apartments. I'll be in touch," she said. Alberta had been dismissed.

Alberta stood and bowed her head respectfully. "Your Majesty," she said, acknowledging the Queen's instructions. I studied Vasilisa carefully until the door closed behind my colleague.

"What's _really_ going on, Lissa?" I asked quietly.

"I already told you –"

"Lissa! I say this with the utmost respect, but … you're a lousy liar."

She sagged. "I never could put anything past you … or Rose," she admitted and I flinched. "I'm sorry. I know you miss her. I do too," she said gently, placing her hand over mine on the table.

"Yes. I always will."

"Dimitri, maybe it's time to –"

"No."

Lissa sighed. Ours was an unwinnable battle of wills when it came to me moving on from Roza's memory, and yet she kept trying. "Alright, Dimitri. I'll drop it … for now," the queen conceded.

"Thank you." I relaxed and stared at her pointedly. "You haven't answered my question, Lissa. What's going on? A book of fiction written by a human for teenagers should not have alarmed you this much."

She sighed and delayed her answer by going to the sideboard for a cup of coffee. "Would you like one?" she offered, the coffee pot poised over an empty cup." I shook my head. She sipped the brew and wandered back to the table.

"Claudia Lazar tabled the matter at the last council meeting," she began. "As you know, any moroi or dhampir citizen can bring a matter before the council." I nodded. "She found a copy of the book in her daughter's room and was alarmed by the cover art and the title. She brought copies of the book for everyone and read out specific passages, mostly those with the greatest similarity to our society. The meeting descended into chaos within minutes and I barely kept control. She implied that it was all my fault – that I failed in my duties as Queen while I focused on my 'pet projects'," she mimicked, adding finger quotes for good measure. "By the time I'd called a halt to her tirade, the damage had been done. The council members all believed the book revealed our secrets to the humans," she explained, looking utterly exhausted and fed up with the whole matter.

"And does it?" I asked skeptically.

She shook her head. "Not really. There are some references that are similar, but there are a hundred more differences. And even if there weren't, what human would believe it?"

I nodded. "Then why are you giving her assertions credibility by investigating?"

She exhaled wearily. "Because Claudia Lazar wants to discredit me and she's determined to block my next three Bills from passing. This … campaign of hers is a red herring and a ploy to distract me. She can't possibly believe this book is any threat. But, she has support from some of the other royal families for her causes and she wants me off the throne so her own father can replace me. If I can't convince the council that this R.M. Bellcamp and her book is not a threat to us, she has more than enough power to sway the council to vote against me – a lot of people owe her many favors," she added in explanation. "Any progress I've made to improve dhampir rights will be lost … perhaps forever."

I understood Lissa's dilemma. Lady Claudia Lazar was a fierce advocate for early guardian graduation, and she was just as passionately against moroi using magic as a weapon to fight strigoi. I wasn't sure what Lissa's other Bill was – I was out of the loop on current moroi politics. Claudia Lazar hadn't made it a secret either that she blamed Vasilisa for what happened to her niece. Avery Lazar had gone insane from overusing spirit and she'd nearly taken the then Princess Vasilisa with her.

"How much time do you have, before –"

"Nine weeks," she said. "I have to convince them at the council meeting before Christmas, or –"

I frowned. "Or?"

She gulped. "They want to … neutralize her."

"And by 'neutralize', you mean –"

"Compel her to stop writing her Guardian stories, and if that doesn't work … kill her," she confessed quietly.

I gasped and my lips thinned angrily. "Your Majesty! We _cannot_ just kill a human because she has an active imagination." I didn't say that my personal code of ethics abhorred the notion.

She glared at me. "I _know_ that, Dimitri! Why do you think I'm sending you to find out what's going on. You're the only one I trust to do this. I'm depending on you, Dimitri … Rosa Campbell is depending on you!"

I suddenly felt the weight of the world resting on my shoulders. "Very well. I'll drive to Whitefish tonight."

"Thank you, Dimitri." She smiled wanly with relief. "Oh, I nearly forgot. You'll need this," she trilled, pulling a black compact from her purse. She handed it to me and I looked at it wondering what to do with it. "It's cover up foundation," she said as if that explained everything. I showed no reaction and she rolled her eyes. "It's for your molnija marks. Use that to cover the tattoos. Wear shirts with collars and leave your hair down. Hopefully, no one will notice." She slid the offending book across the table. "You might want to read this before you meet her."

We said our goodbyes and I escorted Lissa to her guardians. They used one of the academy's vehicles to drive to the runway and I heard the jet take off just as I was zipping my bags closed. I hadn't seen Christian this visit and I wondered if he knew Lissa was in Montana. I thought perhaps he didn't, otherwise he would have insisted on accompanying her.

Pulling my weapons bag towards me, I added a few stakes, two hand guns, conventional _and_ silver bullets, a knife, two different swords, titanium-silver hand cuffs and leg shackles, colloidal silver, various other combat weapons, five books, three untraceable phones, lighter fluid, a package of disposable lighters, and my personal stash of Alchemist potion used to turn strigoi into dust. I took the bags out to the car and returned to the cabin for my laptop, phone, wallet and the packet containing my new identity and the information on Rosa Campbell.

Grabbing my duster from the hook by the door, I locked up and was driving out the front gates a few minutes later. It was 7 p.m. and the academy was just waking up to begin another day, none the wiser about my special assignment.

* * *

**Alberta's POV**

I stood under a tree in the woods where nobody could see me as I made the call. I'd known for four years that this day might come and I dreaded his reaction. I understood his reasons, but the guilt I felt over my role in his deceit was overwhelming. Whenever Dimitri had come back from another failed search, or left to follow yet another false lead, my heart had cried for the young lovers – but, I owed _him_ and … he'd eventually collected as I'd always known he would. When he'd asked for my help all those years ago, my protective nature had overcome my good sense and I'd agreed, but it was _never_ supposed to take this long.

"Merhaba," a gruff voice answered.

"Abe … it's Alberta."

"What news do you have?" he demanded, skipping any further niceties.

"They've found her!" I burst out.

He swore viciously in Turkish. "How?" he grunted.

"It was a fluke. They know about the book and the Queen wants answers. She's sending in Dimitri." There was silence on the end of the phone and I wondered if I'd lost the connection.

"Well that's something, at least," he eventually said in a calmer tone. "Belikov will protect her."

"Yes. He's never really given up hope even after you convinced him of her death," I said, pausing for a moment. "He's going to kill you when he finds out you lied to him." My warning wasn't just a turn of phrase. I actually feared for Abe Mazur's life, and not only from Dimitri. Janine Hathaway would gut and castrate him for keeping their daughter hidden.

I heard him sigh. "It was necessary. My enemies were at the gate with my daughter in their sights. The attack on the academy wasn't random, Alberta – you know this. Sonya Karp was paid an exorbitant amount of money to kidnap Rose and deliver her to Aristotle Gusarov."

My head bowed and I kicked at some autumn leaves on the ground. "I know. They almost succeeded. Had it not been for the accident –"

"My kizim would be lost to all of us," Abe said wistfully. "Only a few know that Sonya Karp finally died in that accident along with Nathan Voda."

"How is she?" I asked curiously, missing the young woman who'd been like a daughter to me. "Is she happy?"

Abe chuckled. "Rose is marvelous … or so I'm told, and my granddaughter is simply precious. I have photos of them. Gina sends them to me. I take them out and stare at them sometimes, imagining their human lives –" He trailed off, lost in his own thoughts. My God! Zmey had sent Rose his guardian housekeeper to keep watch over her? How had he managed that? "The book wasn't supposed to raise any red flags, Alberta," Abe said. "My emissary said he'd taken care of it."

"I've read the book, Abe. It's good and there are minor similarities, but nothing that should have raised this much anxiety in the Queen or the council. Humans are obsessed with the supernatural … they've been writing about it for centuries. Something else must have happened –"

"Hmm." I imagined him stroking his goatee – his steel-trap mind sifting through all of the possibilities, and then I heard Abe speaking in rapid, idiomatic Turkish to another man who stuttered nervously. I didn't understand a word. I was simply grateful that _I_ wasn't the person standing in front of Zmey.

"Alberta, what is your role in the Queen's plan and who else knows?" he demanded. I explained what the Queen asked me to do and mentioned Kirova and her part in Vasilisa's plan, which triggered another spate of vicious swearing. "Ellen Kirova is a vapid, narcissistic excuse for a moroi!" he spat. "She's the _last_ person the Queen should have confided in." I heard his fist thump the desk.

"Vasilisa compelled her not to speak of it to anyone … and to forget everything until she was needed," I told Abe hurriedly.

"Make sure she doesn't," Abe ordered menacingly. "She's now your responsibility."

I swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"Keep your eyes and ears open, Alberta. It's only a matter of time before Gusarov finds out about the Queen's interest. He has spies everywhere."

"I will … Abe, you need to tell Dimitri. He can't protect her if he doesn't know what he's protecting her _from_ and … and Gusarov might already know," I revealed nervously.

"What?" he breathed. His soft tone was terrifying.

"She's being stalked ... for awhile now. Her publisher is forcing her to have a bodyguard. Hans Croft arranged for Dimitri to replace him."

Zmey growled. "I'll take care of it. I'll be in America tomorrow. Tell no one where I am. I'll be in contact," he said and then I heard a click. He'd hung up.

"Shit!" I mumbled.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave me a review. I know many readers might not realize it, but hours of writing and research go into creating a work of fiction. This chapter alone took me 50 hours to write and edit – that's more than the average work week and I _do _work full time as well.

Well, it seems Zmey has some explaining to do. The lies he's told – oh dear. What do you think of Alberta's role in all of this? Next chapter – Dimitri sees Rose for the first time in almost four years.

Other notes …

I used the address of ma'am for Vasilisa sometimes because I didn't want the title of Your Majesty to become tiresome for me or readers. It is an acceptable informal address for the British Queen, so I applied it here. Ma'am is pronounced mam as in ham.

Turkish translations: Merhaba = Hello. Kizim = daughter. Domuz = pig.

I made up Claudia Lazar. There isn't a lot of mention about the Lazars other than Avery, but the Lazars voted for the age decree in the VA book series, so I thought she'd be a good antagonist for Lissa.

I'm also going with the VA movie inference that moroi can extend and retract their fangs at will. Hence the lack of a 'fang bite' when Lissa pounded on Dimitri to release the darkness. I noticed that Lissa noticeably extended her fangs in the start of the movie when she drank from Rose. Furthermore, when Lissa widely smiled in the movie, her fangs were rarely visible unless she was feeding. I'm going with the theory that some moroi like to keep their fangs extended all the time and some don't.


	8. Chapter 8 - Roza

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

AN: Thank you to everyone who left a review for chapter 7. I want you to know that I appreciate all of the support even if I don't respond individually to each message. However, if you have specific questions about the story, I will do my best to give you a response, but I can't always promise to give you the answers you seek because that might spoil the story. This chapter is told in Rosa and Dimitri's POVs.

**Chapter 8 – Roza**

**Rosa's POV**

"Mommy?" the sweet voice whispered in my ear. "Mommy, please wake up … pleeease!" Maili whined. "I want to ride my pony. You promised."

I smiled into my pillow, biding my time until I surprised her with my tickle attack. Every Sunday morning before church, Maili and I went riding … just the two of us, except this morning her grandmother was joining us. I heard her humph when I gave no reaction to her pleas. Opening one eye, I sneaked a peek. My daughter was kneeling on the bed with her arms over her chest, scowling crossly. She was already dressed in her riding outfit of blue jeans, a pink sweater and pink cowgirl boots decorated with rhinestones, which she'd received for her third birthday a couple of months earlier.

Maili had grown more like me in nature as she'd matured from infant to toddler to child, becoming impatient and sometimes unruly if she didn't get her own way. She could also be sweet and angelic when she wanted to be. Her smile and thickly lashed, dark brown eyes convinced even the most jaded person to bow down to her whims when she really turned on the charm. Of course, her talents rarely succeeded on women. We were too in tune with her tricks having tried them all ourselves. Well, I assumed I had, but I still couldn't remember anything before I woke up in the hospital more than three years earlier … battered, memoryless and pregnant.

"Mommy! You're not fair. Grandma's already here and if you don't wake up soon, I won't get to ride Bobbin."

Bobbin was her American Quarter Pony … a beautiful five-year-old bay mare with a gentle temperament. The pony had been a birthday gift from Bridget and Nicholas, who were, essentially, my parents. They'd cared for me and taken me into their hearts and home when no one came forth to claim me after the accident. Maili climbed off the bed and stomped her booted feet, reaching out to grab my hand in her smaller one to tug me awake. I'll give her credit where credit was due … she was one determined little girl.

I glanced at the digital clock by the bed and noticed the time … it was after seven. Shoot, it was getting late. Services were at ten o'clock, which didn't leave a lot of time to ride, care for the horses, eat breakfast, bathe, and drive the twenty five minutes into town so we weren't the last ones through the church doors like most Sunday mornings.

Maili leaned in to poke me as she usually did when whining and tugging didn't work, and then I pounced with both hands. She shrieked and I rolled over, lifting her off the floor and across my body until she was flat on her back amongst the soft covers. She stared at me with wide eyes and a slack mouth knowing what was coming.

"Are you ready?" I whispered, my hands poised. She shook her head, shrieked again, and tried to wiggle away from me. "I'm gonna get you," I sang and she giggled, escaping from my caged arms. She crawled to the edge of the mattress and dangled one leg over the side, ready for a quick getaway. "You'd better hurry, Princess Maili or I'm gonna tickle you into submission." I held up both hands and waggled my fingers.

"You have to catch me first, Mommy," she taunted, grinning at me madly. She raised one eyebrow as if to say, _"Well, what are you waiting for?"_

Why could _everyone_ except me cock a single brow of inquiry? No matter how much I practiced in front of the mirror, I just couldn't do it. It was really beginning to tick me off. I heard the oven timer ringing from the kitchen and that was my cue. I attacked. Diving across the bed, I grabbed Maili around the waist and pulled her toward me until she was lying across my lap. She shrieked and giggled uncontrollably as my fingers found her ticklish spots and I leaned down to press kisses over her face.

"Mommy, Mom (hic) Mommy!" she cried after about ten seconds. She couldn't handle any more when she broke. "Uncle. Unc (hic) uncle," she gasped. I stopped.

"Are you sure?"

"Hic. Yes. You win, Mommy."

"I always do, baby girl." I helped her sit up and she hopped off the bed. "Go ask Gina to braid your hair while I get dressed, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy." She took off to race along the hallway.

"Don't run on the stairs!" I yelled a reminder.

Her steps slowed and I listened carefully until her foot treads safely reached the first floor of the modern ranch house. Throwing back the quilt, I climbed from the bed and stretched the kinks out. As Bridget had once promised, I'd regained almost full mobility in my badly broken right leg. I ran, rode horses and I even skied during the winter – though I stayed on the easy slopes – and I could work on my combat training. Nevertheless, the leg stiffened up after long periods of inactivity … like sleeping or sitting. It was especially achy during the cold weather, so limbering up was vital if I wanted to do all the things I loved _and_ keep up with an energetic three year old.

When I was satisfied that the leg muscles had responded to the exercises, I strolled into the ensuite bathroom to freshen up, brush my teeth and plait my hair into a loose braid at the nape of my neck. My hair was long and wavy, reaching almost to the center of my back when it was loose. I loved wearing it out – my hair was awesome – but galloping across pasture wasn't ideal with flying hair. I pulled on old jeans, a long sleeved red shirt, and my boots before swiping gloss over my lips and grabbing my prescription sunglasses from my purse.

As I entered the large farm style kitchen, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and chocolate reached my nose. Hmm. My mouth drooled as I unerringly honed in on the cooling rack of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins and the mocha coffee I liked. "Gina, what did I ever do to deserve you in my life?" I asked, as I bit into the warm cake.

"How do you know it wasn't the other way around?" she replied in her lilting, Italian accented voice. She smiled and dropped three of the muffins into a paper sack. "Molly ran off to the stables ... I watched her from the door," Gina informed me. I rolled my eyes about my impatient daughter.

Gina Paschal was tall and shapely with golden brown skin, dark eyes and almost black hair. She was very beautiful for a woman who was almost fifty, deceptively strong and fast. I'd seen her throw bales of hay around as if they were cotton wool and she'd raced alongside one of the horses once just for the hell of it. She hadn't beaten the horse, but she'd sure come close.

I finished my mocha coffee and grabbed the sack of muffins on my way to the back door. "We'll be back around 8:30 and we're leaving for church at 9:30," I told my housekeeper.

"I'll have breakfast ready," she said, cleaning up the crumbs I'd left on the counter. I felt guilty for my slovenly ways for a brief moment before shrugging it off. I'd tried cleaning up my own mess, but that had made Gina cranky. She'd said looking after Maili and me was her job, which included cleaning up after us. All the same, I did try not to leave too much mess in my wake.

"Thanks, Gina. Oh, by the way, I'm expecting a guest sometime today. I'm not sure of his name, but he'll probably have a New York accent. Just … let him in and feed him if I'm not here."

She looked at me suspiciously. "How is he a guest if you don't even know his name?" she asked bluntly, "and why is he coming here?" Gina didn't like strangers. She especially didn't like strange men coming to the ranch without a reason. She was mistrustful and questioned them with the veracity of a buzzard on a body. Sometimes I wondered if she'd had a career as a cop before becoming my housekeeper. I could only imagine what she was thinking.

"My publisher sent him," I said calmly. "He'll be staying for a while, so you'll need to prepare a room for him." She threw the dishrag onto the counter and glared at me. My eyes narrowed as we faced off across the island counter. God almighty. Who was the employer here and who was the housekeeper? "Gina," I growled. "I don't want him here either, but my publisher insisted. He's here to … um … he's here to help me research my third book," I said, hurriedly coming up with a plausible excuse.

My third book in the _Guardian_ series was set in Russia. I wasn't certain how much a New Yorker could help me, but if my white lie kept Gina happy, I'd take it. I wasn't about to tell the protective woman that he was my new bodyguard. She didn't know about the mail and phone stalking, and I planned to keep it that way.

She scowled and mumbled that my second book wasn't published yet, so why the hurry to write the third one. She shut up when I glowered at her in warning. Shifting my eyes to the kitchen clock, I noticed it was a quarter to eight. We wouldn't be riding further than the corral if I didn't get down to the stables in the next five minutes.

I sighed. "Gina, please prepare the blue room for our guest," I said firmly as I opened the back door. I heard her mobile phone ring as I closed it behind me.

"Morning, Mom," I called as I strode into the stables. Bridget looked up and smiled as she saw me. She had three horses saddled and Maili was already sitting astride her pony wearing her riding helmet. The other two animals were a Quarter horse mare for me called Orchid and a gelding Tennessee walking horse called Milo for Bridget.

Maili scowled. "You're _late_, Mommy," she accused.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, baby. Gina sent muffins," I said placatingly, swinging the paper bag I carried.

"Hmm. I thought I smelled chocolate," Bridget said, holding her hand out for the bag. She took one of the warm treats and started eating.

"Do you want your muffin, Maili?" I asked her as I bent over to check the cinch. I knew that Bridget would never let Maili ride without a properly fitted saddle, but she had taught me well and habits were hard to break.

"I'll have it later. Mommy, can we _please_ go already?" she whined impatiently, her three-year-old tolerance for delays at an end.

"Yep, let's go." I quickly checked my own saddle, buckled my helmet and mounted the horse, watching Bridget do the same. We slowly walked out of the stables and into the corral, waiting while my ranch hand Lester opened the gate. The sun was bright and I slipped my sunglasses from the shirt pocket and slid them onto my face.

"Thanks, Lester. We're riding toward Kettle Point, but we should be back around 8:30," I said. Kettle Point was a small rock outcrop on the ranch that looked like its name implied. Weather had worn away the granite leaving a squat shaped rock with a spout.

"Very good, ma'am. Have a good ride."

"We will," I answered as I pressed my horse into a walk alongside Maili as we rode out across the green pasture. Bridget did the same, so that we flanked my daughter on her pony.

When I'd first learned to ride, the ranch horses belonging to Bridget's parents were skittish around me. I didn't think I'd been particularly scared of the animals, but the more restless they were in my presence, the more nervous I'd become. It had taken weeks of desensitization before me and the horse Bridget had chosen, could stand beside the other without flinching. Bobbin hadn't been much better. We'd coaxed the pony with sugar cubes and carrots until she'd come to trust us, but it had taken awhile. Most animals were uneasy around us at first. We must give off bad vibes or something.

"Mommy, can I go faster, please?" Maili asked, impatient with our slow pace. Despite only learning to ride solo a few months ago, she'd taken to it like a duck to water. I looked around and seeing no obstacles, I gave her permission to ride on ahead of us.

"You seem a little put out this morning, Rosa … what's wrong?" Bridget asked as we watched Maili and Bobbin. I glanced at her, unsurprised that she'd noticed my mood. She knew me better than I sometimes knew myself.

"The bodyguard arrives today."

"Ah ... and you're not happy about?" she concluded perceptively.

I scowled. "No. I don't want my movements restricted. It's bad enough that all of my mail is screened before I get it and I've had to change my cell phone number twice already. I don't want my movements monitored as well," I whined, sounding like Maili had this morning.

"Your publisher is only concerned about you, Rosa. Nicholas and I agree with their decision. We don't want anything to happen to you."

"I don't want that either, but I'm more concerned for Maili's safety than my own. If my publisher had offered me a bodyguard for her, you wouldn't hear me complaining. He might actually keep her out of trouble for more than five minutes," I mumbled as I watched Maili ride her pony like a pro. She wasn't too far ahead of us – only about ten yards. Bridget and I had nudged our horses into a easy canter to keep up with her.

Bridget laughed quietly, knowing too well how much Maili's tendency for getting into trouble was driving me crazy. Hardly a week went by when I wasn't called to the school to receive a lecture from Headmistress Martinez. I sighed. Maili was a natural leader and she led her band of followers like the Pied Piper, often getting into mischief. Her most recent infraction had her throwing a pencil with unerring accuracy at her teacher. It really was the stupid woman's own fault. She'd been coaching the kids to write their names, but I'd already taught Maili to write hers. She'd pitched a fit when told that the perfectly printed letters she'd written spelling 'Molly' was wrong and to try again.

"How long is the bodyguard staying?" Bridget asked.

"Um, I'm not sure. I guess until the stalker gives up or the police catch him … or her. I hope it's soon though. It's not the first zealous fan I've had, but they are the most persistent … and threatening. The letters ramble on about me being the 'key to the snake's empire', which makes absolutely no sense at all," I scoffed, "They end with the same thing: _'It's only a matter of time before I find out where you live … and then I'll come for you.'"_

Bridget shuddered. "Well, I'm glad your fan mail is received via your publisher. What I want to know is how he or she got your cell phone number?"

"Me too. The sheriff's checked with the phone company and no one there has given out my unlisted number. Andy thinks that someone at the publisher might be the culprit."

Bridget gasped. "What? You didn't tell me that." I made a face of apology. "What is the publisher doing to protect your personal information?" she demanded.

"They've encrypted my author file and only my editor has my contact details."

Bridget nodded. "That's good. Thankfully, few people in this town know you're the author of the _Guardian_ series. If they did, someone would talk."

"Or it would make the pool of suspects larger," I added. We reached Kettle Point where Maili waited for us while her pony grazed on the sweet, green grass. Bridget sidled her horse alongside Bobbin and bent down to kiss Maili's forehead.

"You're such a great rider, sweetheart," she praised. "You make me proud."

Maili grinned. "Thanks, Grandma." She looked at me slyly. "I'm better than Mommy when you taught her, aren't I?"

I snorted. Show off.

"Hmm, your mommy is an excellent rider now, Maili … and she was a lot older than you when she learned to ride. You'll be just as good as her one day."

"I want to be just like my mommy," Maili said as she turned Bobbin around in the direction of the ranch proper. "She's good at everything. I've been watching Mommy kick and punch her gym bag. The next time my teacher annoys me, I'm gonna kick her in the ankles."

I nearly choked.

"Oh, I think you're more like your mother than you know," Bridget said dryly. She snickered softly so that Maili wouldn't hear her.

"You most certainly _will not_ kick your teacher, young lady … or anyone else!" I screeched. "If you get into trouble one more time, the pre-school will expel you. Your dislike of your teacher will be the least of your worries," I warned as I reached out to grab Bobbin's bridle and pull the pony to a halt. Maili turned her mutinous face in my direction. "You listen to me carefully, Maili Bridget Campbell. I train to protect us … I don't do it to hurt people who annoy me. If I find out that you've kicked or punched someone without good reason, you'll lose your riding privileges for a year. Do you understand me?"

She pouted. "What does priv-priveligges mean?" she asked.

"Privileges mean rights. I mean it, Maili," I said firmly. "You won't be allowed near a horse until after your fourth birthday. Is that what you want?"

Her mouth wobbled as she realized how long that was. She still hadn't quite grasped the meaning of time in terms of months and years, but she knew her next birthday wasn't due for a long time. "No, Mommy. I love my pony. I won't kick or punch," she promised.

I breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, good girl." We rode back to the ranch moving at a fast canter for most of the way, slowing to a trot and then a walk as we neared the stable. I thought Maili had moved on from our conversation, but she hadn't.

"Mommy, who wants to hurt us?" she asked worriedly.

"What?" I gasped as I stared at her in shock. "What do you mean, baby?"

"You said you kick and punch to protect us. Who are you protecting us from?" she asked.

"Um, no one at the moment, sweetheart. Mommy just wants to be prepared. You learned about 'stranger danger' in school didn't you?" She nodded. "Well, it applies to mommy too. If I can't run away to safety, then I might need to protect myself by fighting back."

Maili was silent while she digested the new information. "So, if a stranger tries to take me away or hurt me, can I hurt them back?"

Despite having just warned her not to kick or punch, the stranger danger scenario demonstrated the only circumstance when I _would _want Maili to kick or punch her way to safety. "Yes. If a stranger tries to hurt you or take you away, you have my permission to defend yourself … and scream. I want you to scream as loud as you can."

"Okay," she said, satisfied by my answer. "Let's hurry. Gina promised to make pancakes for breakfast." As quickly as that, our near argument and stranger danger conversation was forgotten.

After caring for the horses, we headed inside to breakfast and showers before going to church. Gina was in the kitchen flipping pancakes on the griddle, a surly expression on her face. She glared at me for a few seconds before her expression cleared. What the hell was wrong with her? She couldn't still be pissed off about our guest could she? Perhaps the phone call she'd received earlier had given her bad news. I considered asking her, but I knew from experience how private she was. She rarely shared information about her past or her own family.

After breakfast, I went to shower and Bridget offered to supervise Maili's bath time since we were running late (again) and she wasn't going to services that morning. She had a shift at the hospital. One of Bridget's newest patients was the minister's wife. She'd fallen off a ladder while cleaning the gutters of her house and broken her leg. I decided to pick some flowers from the garden for Josephine Winters and ask Bridget to give them to her.

"Bridget, I'll be in the garden cutting some flowers," I called as I passed Maili's bedroom. I heard splashing from the ensuite bathroom.

"Okay. Maili will be ready when you're done."

"Thanks." I collected secateurs from the toolbox and a wicker basket from the sun porch before letting myself into the side yard where the rose garden was. The previous owner's wife had been an avid gardener and an expert on roses. The garden was full of a variety called _Rosa Montana – _a deep red, fragrant flower that flourished in mountainous regions and bloomed between June and October.

Wandering amongst the thorny vines, I was cutting long stemmed blooms when I was startled by a lightly accented, masculine voice and the scent of cologne that seemed familiar to me …

* * *

**Dimitri's POV**

The alarm sounded early and I woke instantly. I'd been awake half the night reading the book written by my new human charge. The story was good. There were similarities to moroi society … and just as many differences. The author's use of silver stakes to kill the Dearg vampires wasn't particularly unique to her. Silver was infamous in folklore as being a vampire deterrent. The use of elemental magic was also not unique, but she had used it in a way that was atypical of most other authors and that _was_ similar to moroi society.

In the _Guardians _novel, the Ao'osi was a type of fairy with vampiric tendencies. There were four clans, each allied to one of the elements, and each clan had a ruling royal family. Every twelve years, the clans voted for a Supreme King or Queen. The Ao'osi didn't use their magic in any defensive or offensive manner … only using it to make their lives easier. The self-imposed restriction had made them easy pickings for true vampires called the Dearg who preyed on the Ao'osi for their life affirming blood. The Dearg weren't dead, but they were hard to kill, very strong and fast and they lived for hundreds of years. Ao'osi blood extended that life span and allowed the Dearg to walk in the sun for a short time.

The dhampirs were referred to as the Vaerie. They were the descendants of Ao'osi and Dearg unions from a time when the Ao'osi and the Dearg had united to defeat a common enemy: humans. They'd united in more ways than one for over a hundred years until the humans embraced science and technology and turned their backs on the supernatural. The Vaerie could breed with other Vaerie, Ao'osi, or Dearg, but only ever produced more Vaerie. They were born with the best traits of both species, but they didn't need blood to survive. Vaerie were human in appearance, strong and fast like the Dearg and resistant to disease with rapid healing abilities when injured. The Vaerie could go out into the sun and some had latent magical abilities. While resistant to using magic for their own protection, the Ao'osi had no problem using the stronger Vaerie as guardians.

Climbing from the bed in my room at the Best Western Hotel in Whitefish, Montana, I freshened up in the bathroom and changed into sweats before heading to the gym for a work out, intending to round out my exercise regime with a fifty-lap swim in the heated pool. When I'd arrived in Whitefish at around ten the previous night, I'd checked into the first decent hotel I'd come to and ordered room service. While eating my food, I'd read the information Lissa had given me and then settled onto the bed to read the book. It had been nearly three in the morning when I'd put the light out.

The packet didn't contain any further information about Rosa Campbell than Lissa had already told me, but I did familiarize myself with the new identity Hans Croft had created for me. Apparently, I was ex Special Forces, which explained my fighting skills. My military file was classified. I'd worked for Trident Guardian Services for only a few months having spent the previous two years in Afghanistan while employed by the Army.

My name and age were the same (I was 29), except I was American born to Russian parents who immigrated as children with their parents in 1960 before the Berlin Wall was erected. My grandparents and parents had fled communist Russia via Germany and had made their way to New York where they'd settled in Brooklyn and built a new life, earning their modest fortunes in the thriving garment industry. It wasn't entirely a lie. Some of my family _had_ fled to the USA in the fifties and sixties and my mother _was_ a seamstress by choice even though she'd trained – as all dhampirs did – to be a guardian.

My curriculum vitae also stated that I spoke fluent Russian (true) and Arabic, which was also true, but not a talent I'd ever advertised. I didn't recall ever mentioning my language skills to Hans Croft. I also spoke a smattering of Turkish, Romanian, and Greek – enough of each to get by on – and, of course, I was fluent in English.

Following my hour-long workout, I returned to my room to shower and dress and I decided to eat in the hotel restaurant for breakfast. Whilst passing by the concierge desk, I asked for a map of the area so I could study the terrain. The dining room was nearly full when I entered and I glanced around, finding an empty table by the windows overlooking the mountains in the distance.

Regardless of my whereabouts, I reviewed my surroundings, always alert to danger or suspicious activity. I covertly studied the large room, taking note of who was there and what they were doing. The most interesting person was a police officer who was sitting two tables away with a young woman. The patches on his uniform jacket said he was employed by the Whitefish Sheriff's Department and his nametag read Sheriff Stewart. He looked a bit like Tom Skerritt, the actor from the movie _Top Gun_. He was also observant I noted, as I felt the hard stare of his eyes boring into my back.

I studied the map as I ate breakfast and determined that Rosa Campbell lived about twenty-five minutes north of the town on the far side of Whitefish Lake at Lazy Bay. Reaching for my iPad, I launched the Google Maps application and searched her address, clicking on the available satellite photograph. My left eyebrow rose in surprise. Rosa Campbell lived on a small ranch. The photo showed a large, modern cedar and stone house and several out buildings that appeared to be a barn and a stable overlooking the lake. The cleared land was lush with green grass grazed by horses and cattle, but the ranch was partially planted with forest. A natural pond served as a water source for the animals, and a narrow creek crossed one corner of the property. The boundary nearest the house and closest to the road, bordered the lake where there was a dock and a boathouse.

It was an expensive piece of real estate. It would also be a nightmare to defend, particularly with the house being accessible by road and boats, not to mention air should a determined assailant decide to land a helicopter. An eager hiker could also walk into the property from the farthest boundary through the forest if they had a mind to. Defending Rosa Campbell's property would be akin to single-handedly defending St Vladimir's – virtually impossible.

Sighing, I folded up the map and signaled my flirtatious server for the bill. The young woman had been overly attentive, almost to the point of harassment. She came over with an eager smile that quickly morphed into a scowl when I coldly ignored her. The girl – Clare, her nametag announced – slapped the bill onto my table and stomped away in a huff. Sighing at the silliness of young women over a handsome face, I fished $30 from my wallet and left her a generous tip. She reminded me a little of my older sister, Karolina who worked as a server in my home town of Baia in Siberia. Karolina had said it was a thankless job with little reward and only sore feet for her trouble.

Leaving the dining room, I hardly gave Clare another thought as I stopped by reception and asked for my bill to be readied. Five minutes later, I'd signed the credit card slip and was striding out the front doors to my car. I wanted to get out to the ranch and introduce myself before my new charge went out for the day. At least it was Sunday … most people liked to sleep in and relax on Sunday mornings, so I had high hopes of finding her still at home. The sooner I integrated myself into her life the better.

The road to Lazy Bay followed the lake on the right side. The landscape was just as stunning as I remembered it from three years earlier when I'd spent a few days in the town searching for Rose. I hadn't found her then and true to my word given to Lissa, I hadn't directly asked about Rose or shown anyone her photograph or the pencil portrait. I hadn't seen her and I hadn't overheard any conversations amongst the locals that might have led me to her or indicated she was living in the town.

Pulling into the drive of the ranch, I passed under a sign that announced the property's name as _Rosings Park._ The name made me smile. Someone with a poetic nature had been a fan of Jane Austin and her novel, Pride and Prejudice. Having guarded several English Literature classes during my tenure at St Vladimir's Academy, I was familiar with the story.

As I pulled to a stop in front of the large house, I was impressed by its majesty as it overlooked the crystal clear lake. It wasn't a mansion by any means, but the large two-story structure of cedar and stone held presence in the landscape. It was modern in architectural style with many doors and windows (yet another defensive issue) and it looked to have been built around ten years earlier … probably where the previous ranch house used to be. I'd passed a red painted barn and the stone and cedar stable on the way in. Two vehicles were parked on the flagstone apron in front of the house: a red BMW SUV and a black Escalade SUV like mine.

Leaving my belongings in the car, I locked it with the keyless remote and climbed the stone steps to the front door. There was a doorbell, but I used the whimsical grizzly bear doorknocker to announce my arrival. It was opened by a beautiful, brunette woman in her mid thirties wearing jeans and a wet shirt. I almost gasped. She appeared as I imagined Roza would have looked in ten or fifteen years time. There was a small child at her feet – a girl – with dark brown eyes and light brown hair pulled into a ponytail with a white ribbon. She was wearing a pink dress with white tights and shoes. The little girl must be Maili Campbell. There was a familiarity about the child, but I couldn't quite define what it was. It was more than her likeness to the woman standing before me.

"Hi. Can I help you?" the woman asked, smiling.

"My name is Dimitri Belikov. I was hired by your publisher … I believe you are expecting me." Her eyes widened and she looked down at Maili before shaking her head at me and placing a finger in front of her mouth in a shushing motion. She leaned down to the child's level.

"Maili, go and watch television in the den until it's time to leave, okay."

"Okay, Grandma," the little girl said in her singsong voice. She skipped out of sight and I heard the sound of blaring cartoons as the TV came on.

"Um, hi. I'm Bridget Hanson … er Dillard, Rosa's mother," she fumbled, blushing delicately.

"Hello. Is Rosa … Ms Campbell at home?"

"Yes, she is, but she's just about to leave for church. Um, do you have some identification?" she asked wisely. I pulled my new credentials wallet from the inside breast pocket of my duster and handed it to her. She checked the identification carefully, scrutinizing the photograph and comparing it to the person – me – standing in front of her. She handed it back to me. "Thank you, Mr Belikov. Maili doesn't know about you or the reason for your being here. I didn't want you to say anything until you've spoken with Rosa."

"I understand."

"Please come in. Rosa's in the garden cutting some flowers," she explained as she led me through the house and into the kitchen. An older woman was working at the island counter, peeling vegetables. She looked up as I entered and her eyes widened as did mine when we both recognized each other. The recognition wasn't personal … neither of us had ever met before, but we could identify our own race. The woman was dhampir.

What was a dhampir doing working in a human's home? Some dhampirs – those who weren't cut out to be guardians, or who didn't want the lifestyle – took jobs in the human world, but they were always employed by businesses and corporations.

"This is Gina Paschal," Bridget introduced. "Gina is Rosa's housekeeper and nanny for Maili. Gina, this is Rosa's houseguest, Dimitri Belikov. I believe she mentioned that he was arriving today."

Gina swallowed and stared at me, an expression of unease on her face, before she formed her features into a neutral mask. My eyes narrowed. A guardian mask. I knew that facial expression. It was _my_ facial expression. She wiped her hands on a towel and boldly held her hand out. I grasped it in greeting and we both squeezed firmly. She didn't flinch when I purposely tightened my hold.

"Yes, Doctor Hanson, Rosa told me this morning. Welcome to _Rosings Park_, Mr Belikov. I've prepared a room for you. Let me know if I can help you in any way," she said dispassionately.

I watched her carefully. "Thank you. We'll speak later," I added, letting her know that I would be seeking her out for an explanation.

"I'm sure we will," she agreed quietly. "Well, I need to finish my lunch preparations. Let me know when you'd like to see your room."

Bridget had been watching our exchange with interest and I addressed her next, hoping to divert her curiosity. "You said Rosa was in the garden, Doctor Hanson. Would you show me the way?"

"Oh! Um, oh yes, it's out through the sun porch," she said, pointing to a door at the side of the kitchen. You can't miss it. Go on out."

Walking in the direction she indicated, I stepped into a screened-in-porch that overlooked a large rose garden. I now understood the reference to _Rosings Park_. A young woman with dark brunette hair was bent over, cutting blooms. The morning sun shone on her hair making it glint with reddish highlights. The imagery was so similar to Yeva's vision and my own dream that my chest hurt for a moment. I couldn't see her face as I made my way into the garden since she was turned away from me. I spoke before reaching her so that my sudden appearance wouldn't frighten her.

"Rosa Campbell. My name is Dimitri Belikov. I work for Trident Guardian Services and I've been sent here to protect you."

She straightened up and turned around.

I gasped and my aching heart stopped.

Impossible!

It's … just not possible. Zmey said he had proof she was dead … except she wasn't.

She was alive … vitally and beautifully alive.

Instantly, the presence of the dhampir guardian-housekeeper made perfect sense to me. Rosa Campbell already had a bodyguard and I knew exactly who had hired her. I would kill that snaky bastard for keeping her from me.

"Roza," I breathed.

* * *

**Rosa's POV**

I stared at the very tall, very handsome man in front of me. He was at least six foot, five inches tall – perhaps taller – with shoulder length brown hair and dark brown eyes above a long, straight nose and a wide mouth. His shoulders were broad beneath the leather duster he wore that further delineated arm muscles bulging within the sleeves. What, did he have cowboy ambitions? Something about him was familiar to me … except, I couldn't recall ever meeting him before. He spoke my name as if it were a prayer, his lightly accented voice – Russian, I think it may have been – giving my name a deeper connotation than the usual English sounding Rosa ever had.

I stuck out my hand and he looked down at the wicked snips I held with a raised brow. Shit. I dropped the secateurs into the basket with the blooms I'd already cut and wiped my hands together to rid them of pollen and bugs. "Yes, that's me. Rosa. Um, what did you say your name was again?" I asked as I offered my hand once more in greeting.

He looked at me curiously as if he expected me to know him. "Dimitri … Dimitri Belikov," he answered softly.

He grasped my hand in his larger one and a tingle of electricity zinged across my skin. I dropped his hand in surprise, staring at my palm as if I expected to see it glowing with the power I'd just felt. I couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. It wasn't often that I was tongue-tied around a man, but what do you say to a perfect stranger who was being paid to guard you? _Welcome. Make yourself at home. Don't get in my way while you prevent some whacko from killing my daughter or me. _

My daughter. Had he said something to the little girl to frighten her when he'd arrived? He must have come through the house – the rose garden wasn't accessible from the driveway or the parking pad. After this morning's earlier conversation with Maili about stranger danger, I knew she was susceptible to her own imagination, and Dimitri Belikov's build was menacing – exactly the attribute one hoped for in a guardian.

The screen door creaked, breaking my concentration and I looked away from Dimitri to see Bridget at the top of the stairs leading from the house to the garden. "Rosa, I need to leave," she said, pointing to her watch, "and so do you, or you're going to be late … again," she reminded me.

"Um, okay. I'll be right there." I leaned down to grab the wicker basket of roses and gestured to the bodyguard to leave the garden. "I hope you like church, Mr Belikov, because that's where we're going this morning."

He took the basket from me as we wound our way through the shrubs. "I do, but it wouldn't matter if I didn't. I go where you go … that's my job." I tried in vain to raise a single eyebrow and pouted when I felt both lift up in unison. He could do it – why couldn't I?

"Fair enough. Where are you from?" I asked curiously, as he held open the screen door. "Your accent sounds eastern European." He stared at me expectantly for a second before answering my question.

"Russia. My grandparents and parents are Russian, but I was born in America."

"You must spend a lot of time with your family if you've picked up their accent," I remarked.

"Not as much as I'd like to," he replied. "Have … have you lived here long?"

"In Whitefish – about four years, but I bought the ranch about nine months ago," I told him.

He nodded. "The name of your property is interesting. Did you name it _Rosings Park_ because of the rose garden? It's beautiful."

I smiled. "No. That was the previous owners' doing. The wife was a fan of roses and Jane Austin. I think she thought it would be poetic and I admit, it was the name and garden that helped me decide to buy the property. I felt a connection to it because of my own name … and I like to feel connected to things," I revealed, surprising myself with how candid I was being with a perfect stranger.

"Yes. Connections to people and places make us feel grounded. You always sought bonds with those you loved –"

"What?" I breathed in shock. "How would you know that?" His eyes widened as he realized what he'd said.

"I don't, Ms Campbell. I meant to make an observation," he backpedalled.

"That's very bold of you, Mr Belikov. You hardly know me."

"I'm observant, Roza … er, Ms Campbell. It's what I'm trained to do."

"Hmm," I intoned, uncertain whether I believed him. "Gina, do we have any gift paper?" I asked as we entered the kitchen. "I want to wrap these flowers for Bridget to bring to Mrs Winters. She's in the hospital." Gina looked up and stared at Dimitri, a deep scowl creasing her forehead. I looked between the two of them to see him returning her bold gaze with watchful eyes. Did they know each other?

Gina looked away from Dimitri. "Yes, Rosa, I think so. It's in the pantry. I'll get it for you."

"Never mind, I'll go, I need to de-thorn these roses in the sink in any case." I detoured to the wide opening leading to the main living area. "Bridget, are you still here?" I called through the house.

"Yes, I'm in the den with Maili," she called back.

"Will you come into the kitchen, please … and bring Maili with you. I won't be long," I told the two antagonists as I moved toward the large butler's pantry with its farmhouse sink. "Don't kill each other while I'm gone," I muttered under my breath.

I took the de-thorning tool from a drawer and began stripping the cruel barbs from the stems. How something so beautiful could have such a vicious defensive quality was astounding to me. Nature had given the rose the best of both worlds: beauty to attract and thorns to repel. I heard soft footsteps as the two people in my kitchen moved away from where I was. Nevertheless, my keen hearing picked up a few words before they were out of range.

"Who sent you here?" Dimitri demanded in a quiet hiss.

"I think you know," Gina answered in a jeering tone.

What the hell? Those two did _know_ each other. I knew my instincts about Gina formerly being a cop or something had been spot on. I speculated that they'd worked together in the past and weren't very fond of each other. I didn't think they'd been lovers – Gina was at least twenty years Dimitri's senior – old enough to be his mother. What did their conversation mean? Why would someone send Gina here?

"Mommy!" Maili yelled shrilly as she appeared in the pantry doorway. Like all little girls, she often had a piercing voice that could strip your nerves raw. I cringed and taped the gift-wrap securely around the de-thorned roses.

"Inside voice, please, Maili," I reminded her.

"Sorry, Mommy," she said as I came out of the pantry with the bouquet in my arms. I handed them to Bridget and asked her to give them to Josephine Winters.

"Give her my best," I told Bridget.

"I will. I need to go, Rosa. I'll see you later. It was nice meeting you, Mr Belikov," Bridget said, giving him a little wave.

He stepped away from Gina toward the center of the room and she scuttled into the laundry on the pretext of folding laundry or something or other. She just wanted to be out of Dimitri's line of sight, I concluded. I sighed. I hoped my home wasn't about to become a battlefield.

"Likewise, Doctor Hanson, and please call me Dimitri," he replied.

"Thank you, and call me Bridget," she invited in return. "Come give me a kiss, Maili," she said, bending down to kiss and hug my daughter.

"Bye, Grandma."

"Be good, poppet," Bridget said, and then she was gone. I heard the front door close behind her.

I clapped my hands together. "Well, it's time to go ourselves or we're going to be late, but first I think introductions are in order. Maili, this man is my … friend, Dimitri Belikov. He's going to be staying with us for a while."

"Hello," she said, looking way up at the man who towered over her three foot height. "You're a giant," she added in an awed voice. He laughed softly and crouched down so he was closer to her eye level.

"Hello, Maili," he greeted holding his hand out.

She studied him for a long moment and then apparently decided he was safe because I'd introduced him as my friend. She reached out her hand, grabbing hold of two of his fingers and shook vigorously. "You can call me Molly. Only Mommy, Grandma and my teacher call me Maili." She leaned in closer and whispered, "Molly is easier to spell."

Dimitri laughed and looked upon my daughter with an expression that might have been instant love … but that wasn't possible, was it? He'd just met her. No one felt love at first sight, except perhaps a parent meeting his child for the first time …

The grandfather clock in the living room struck the half hour, breaking my train of thought. We needed to leave. "Maili, here's your sweater," I said, taking it from the counter where Bridget had left it. My purse and keys were beside it. "Let's go, Mr Bel … um, Dimitri," I corrected. Maili would expect me to address a friend by his first name. "We're going now, Gina," I called out in the direction of the laundry. "I'm taking Maili to the park after church, so we'll be back around midday."

"Have fun."

I hurried Maili from the house and unlocked my BMW with the keyless remote as we walked down the front steps. Opening the rear passenger door, I helped Maili into the car and strapped her into her child safety seat before heading around the back of the vehicle to the driver's side. Dimitri Belikov was seated behind the wheel of my gorgeous car expecting to drive.

Oh, hell no, he wasn't!

"You don't even know where we're going, Mr Belikov," I hissed quietly through the open window. "You may have been hired to protect me, but that doesn't mean you get to drive _my_ car when I'm perfectly capable of doing it myself."

"Part of my guardian duties includes driving you wherever you wish to go," he replied, not budging an inch. I wrenched open the car door.

"Get in the passenger seat," I growled.

"No. Give me the keys," he argued back, holding his hand out.

I scowled. "Listen, Comrade," (he flinched) "to get your hands on my keys, you're going to have to take them from me." I smirked and dropped the small bundle down my V-neck sweater to rest within my impressive cleavage. How do you like them apples? I thought gleefully.

"Very much," he mocked. I'd spoken aloud. I _really_ had to stop doing that. Before I could comprehend his intention, he reached out and plucked the keys from between my breasts, bold as brass and utterly unapologetic. I was so stunned at his audacity that he was able to push me gently away from the car and pull the door closed. I stood there staring at him with my mouth open as he inserted the key and pressed the ignition button. "You'd better get in," he said, and I heard rather than saw him shift the transmission into the 'drive' position.

"Fuck," I mumbled under my breath as I hurried around to the passenger side. "You'll pay for this," I warned Dimitri as I slammed the door and pulled the seat belt across my body, clicking it into place. "Head into town," I ordered. "I assume you drove along Lakeshore Drive to get here?" He nodded. "Go back the same way and I'll give you directions when we get there."

He drove off, steering with one hand as he reached over to the center dash panel and changed the radio station. For the second time in as many minutes, I stared at him with my mouth open.

Damned bossy man, I thought as I changed the radio back to the classical station it had been tuned to before. The station wasn't my selection – Nicholas had last driven the BMW – but that wasn't the point. It was _my_ car! I could already see that Dimitri Belikov and I were going to butt heads. Gina wasn't the only one about to give him a hard time.

* * *

**Dimitri's POV**

I held my churning emotions in check until I'd escorted Roza and Molly into the United Methodist Church in Whitefish. I stood near the doors as they walked down the aisle. They paused halfway along to sit with the young woman I'd seen this morning eating with the sheriff. When the service started, I sat in one of the vacant pews at the rear of the church where I could see the door and all of the proceedings. The minister had just begun his sermon when the front door opened and the sheriff sneaked in. He looked around and sat down beside me.

"I saw you this morning at the Best Western," he said quietly, "and you drove Rosa and Maili Campbell here in her vehicle."

"Yes." I didn't elaborate. The sheriff pressed his lips together in irritation.

"Most people provide details when I ask them a question," he prompted softly.

"Hmm, you didn't ask a question … you made a statement," I pointed out.

The sheriff growled. "Who are you and what are you doing in Whitefish?" he demanded.

"My name is Dimitri Belikov and I'm a … friend of Roza's," I told the man, using the explanation she'd given to Molly.

"I don't think so," the sheriff refuted close to my ear. "I know all of Rosa's friends and you aren't on the list."

"Then you'll just have to ask Roza, won't you."

The sheriff pushed his fists into his jacket pockets and stared straight ahead. "I could, but I'm asking you. I don't like being ignored, Dimitri Belikov. Rosa Campbell is a close friend of my daughter and she's important to me as well. So is Molly. I think it would behoove you to cooperate and answer my questions," he bit out.

I decided to take my chances and show the lawman my identification. The probability that he already knew of the stalker was high and I might need his help in the future. It wasn't a good idea to piss off the local sheriff. I reached into my jacket for my identification wallet and the sheriff slipped a hand from his pocket to rest against the butt of his gun.

"Easy now, Mr Belikov," he warned. I slowly removed the wallet and handed it to him. He flipped it open with one hand while keeping the other on his weapon. "You're the bodyguard?" he asked, looking for confirmation.

"Yes. I work for the protection firm hired by her publisher. I'm her guardian until the authorities apprehend the stalker." He handed the wallet back to me.

"Good luck with that. Rosa isn't the most cooperative. She values her freedom too much … she'll probably have you shadowing Molly more than her, but I'm glad you're here. You won't object if I check into your credentials?" he said. I knew it wasn't so much a request as it was a statement of intent.

"Not at all … and I _will_ protect Roza Campbell whether she likes it or not. She's not the one paying me." The sheriff snorted loudly drawing the attention of the congregation. Roza watched us intently a few moments longer than any other person did and I noticed she was wearing eyeglasses. She hadn't been wearing them when we left the house. I looked away when my phone vibrated with an incoming text and I removed the device from my other breast pocket to read the message.

_*Meet me in the car park in five minutes. Black limo. Zmey*_

My mouth tightened as I imagined wringing the mobster's neck, however, I couldn't leave Roza and Molly unprotected … not even in a church. My phone buzzed announcing the arrival of another message.

_*Ask the sheriff to watch them*_

The slimy bastard had spies everywhere. I looked around, but I couldn't see anyone I recognized in the room of humans. I checked the time and set the clock on my phone. The service would finish in half an hour. "Sheriff Stewart, there's something I need to do that concerns Roza's protection," I whispered. "Would you stay here, please? I'll be back before the service ends."

His observant gaze focused on the smartphone in my hand. He nodded. "Go ahead."

Standing up, I edged past the sheriff and sneaked out of the church. As stated in the text message, a black limousine idled in the car park. I walked over and opened the rear door. Zmey sat like a king on the seat in front of the partially raised privacy screen leaving the rear seat free for me to sit on. I understood his motives for the seating arrangement. He had positioned me in the most vulnerable position allowing his guard in the front to have a clear shot should I attempt to attack Abe Mazur.

"Drive," Zmey ordered as he pressed a button to close the dark, opaque screen. It's appearance was deceiving to the untrained eye, but I immediately spotted the tiny sniper hole where I knew a gun was positioned, likely pointed at my head.

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Zmey," I growled.

He chuckled. "So it would appear."

"Who else knows?" I demanded.

"Only a few."

"Alberta Petrov," I said as the dots connected. "She knows."

Zmey nodded. "Yes. How did you know?"

"Lucky guess," I said. If Alberta was working covertly for Abe Mazur, she must have a good reason. I was pissed at her, but not enough to endanger her life. "Janine Hathaway. Does Rose's mother –"

He shook his head. "No one else knows. Alberta, Gina, the Alchemist who conducted the DNA test, me and now you."

"Why!?" I growled. "Why would you fake her death?"

Zmey sighed. "It was necessary. My enemies would have killed her."

"I would have protected her!" I yelled. "I would have protected them both."

He stared at me. "No … not then."

"And now?" I asked, glaring at him.

"I believe you can be of use," Zmey offered.

I swore viciously in Russian. "She doesn't remember me, does she?"

"She doesn't remember anybody," Abe Mazur countered. "Your dream truly was prophetic. Her memory prior to the accident is completely gone. She may at times experience a vague sense of familiarity, but that's all."

I gasped. "Wait. The accident really happened?"

He nodded. "Yes. Nathan Voda and Sonya Karp were driving her north to my enemy when their car hit that truck at high speed. They were decapitated and burned to ash in the ensuing fire. Rose was in the trunk, badly injured, but still alive when the truck driver pulled her free. The accident nearly killed her."

I blinked at him in shock. "How … how did you manipulate the evidence … keep her location a secret?"

He shot me a look of exasperation. "The moroi royal council isn't the only one with money and connections, Dimitri. With enough of both, anyone can hire Compulsors and other experts to hide or fabricate evidence ... and it was necessary to protect Rose from Aristotle Gusarov." I hissed when I heard the name. If possible, the Greek-Russian mobster was even more frightening than Zmey. "He still wants her so he can pull my strings, and I'm afraid the Queen's interest will lead him right to her. Your presence here to protect a human will raise questions … questions I'd rather were never answered. Other than Gina, there are no dhampirs or moroi in this part of Montana. It's why I left her here in the care of Nicholas Dillard and Bridget Hanson."

"What did those animals do to her?" I growled referring to Nathan and Sonya.

He sighed and looked out the window, drumming his fingers against his knee while he deliberated what to tell me. "They broke just about every major bone in her body except her spine. Her extensive head injuries resulted in permanent amnesia. Her left eye was damaged and half her face was shattered. Every major organ was ruptured and she died twice – once in the ER and again on the operating table. She needed seven operations to repair the damage and she was in a coma for three months before she began to wake. It took another two months before her brain healed sufficiently so that when she slept it really was only sleep and not a semi-comatose state."

I felt sick. If those animals weren't already dead, I'd hunt them down to the ends of the earth and torture them very slowly and cruelly before ending their miserable lives. How did she ever hold onto a pregnancy with those types of injuries?

"Sheer luck and God's will," Zmey replied, answering the question I'd unknowingly asked aloud.

"I didn't think the great Zmey believed in God."

"You'd be surprised what I believe in, Dimitri."

"I have to tell the Queen she's alive," I warned.

"No!" he barked.

"Yes," I growled. "I don't have a choice, but I can ask her to keep it to herself. Only Alberta knows I'm here."

"And Kirova," Zmey spat.

"Yes, but the Queen compelled her to forget. She won't be a problem."

"Perhaps not, but the royal council and Claudia Lazar have really poked a hornets nest with their brouhaha about the book. It's impossible to know how many other people know or what they expect the Queen to do about it."

The book. "How did Roza come to write a book about vampires with similarities to our own society?" I asked Zmey.

He smiled proudly. "She's done rather well for herself," he commented before explaining. "She took a creative writing course and the local librarian advised her to write what she knew."

"So she _does_ remember that vampires exist … or at least, she's mistaken her latent knowledge as only imagination?" I hypothesized. This could be a problem. A big one. The royal council would force her back into moroi society and likely imprison her. They'd definitely see her as dangerous and uncontrollable.

Zmey shook his head. "Not really. Any memory she has about her previous life is merely a vague sense of familiarity – a reaction to a smell, a touch or a taste. She only remembers skills: how to drive, how to fight, but she doesn't actually remember learning them. Moreover, her personality is intact … her character didn't change at all. At her core she's still Rosemarie Hathaway, she just doesn't remember her. She's still bold, loyal, independent, flirty, humorous, sarcastic, witty and quick to lose her temper," Zmey enumerated.

He'd forgotten to mention vulgar, dangerous, impulsive, irresponsible and disrespectful. They were all traits I loved about her. Frustrated by … yes, but I still loved her in spite of them. Time without her hadn't muted my feelings. They were still as strong as if she'd only been gone four days instead of four years.

Zmey hadn't noticed my distraction and he spoke on. "Yet, Rose has matured and that maturity has tempered her character with a little more common sense and reason. When she submitted her _Guardians_ manuscript to a publisher, I had one of my people read it and question her … ask her about her ideas for the book. Rose really has no clue. Every response was genuinely candid and when my man led the conversation in the direction of moroi and strigoi folklore, she gave no reaction. She said she'd disregarded them as not interesting enough to write about." I roared with laughter and Zmey joined in with his own booming amusement. "Yes, it's rather ironic, isn't it, considering the council's fear."

"So, the book really does come from Rose's imagination?"

"Completely," Zmey answered with confidence.

My phone alarm sounded, warning me that the service would finish in a few minutes. "Zmey, I need to get back to the church. How can I contact you?" He picked up the car phone and told his driver to return us to the chapel.

"Use the number I texted you from."

"Are you staying around?" He shook his head and said it was too dangerous for Rose and Molly. "What about Gina?" I asked.

"She's been in Whitefish for almost as long as Rose, watching over her. I trust her implicitly. You can too. When Rose advertised for a housekeeper and nanny, I sent Gina to her." Zmey stroked his beard thoughtfully. "How is it that Gina didn't know about the stalker before the Queen?" he asked. "When I spoke to her this morning, she was oblivious to what had been going on."

I shrugged. "I think Rose probably kept it quiet. She always was one for keeping her troubles close to her chest." The limo pulled into the car park of the church and crawled to a stop. I opened the door and jumped out, only to lean back in for a final word with Rose's father. "Abe?"

"Yuh?" He turned to face me and leaned forward slightly, putting himself between the sniper and me. My fist flew out and smashed him in the face, breaking his nose. I heard the crunch and watched the flow of blood with satisfaction.

"That's for fucking lying." I slammed the door and stalked toward the church. "Asshole."

…

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please leave me a review.

More about what Dimitri thought and felt when he saw Roza and Molly for the first time in the next chapter. Dimitri makes a call to the Queen and gets to know this new Roza. Gusarov makes his first move.

Do you think Zmey deserved the broken nose?


	9. Chapter 9 - Getting to Know Them

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

AN: Thanks to all reviewers for showing your support for my story. Reader favorites and alerts are also appreciated. This chapter is mixed POVs.

A little reminder: Dimitri refers to Rosa as Roza. He refers to Maili as Molly since she asked him to call her that. Rosa refers to her daughter using her correct given name, which is Maili as does Bridget. Maili is pronounced MOY-lee. Other characters who know Rosa pre-amnesia refer to her amongst themselves as Rose.

…

**Chapter 9**

**Dimitri's POV**

Standing outside the church in the mild October sunshine, I watched while Roza and her friend Petra Stewart spoke with the minister. I kept a close eye on her and Molly. My job was made easier because I towered over everyone, but guarding while outside _and _in a crowd was always less than ideal.

"What happened to your hand?" Sheriff Stewart asked while we waited.

I gave my grazed and bloody knuckles a cursory inspection. "Atonement," I replied vaguely.

"Uh huh," he scoffed knowingly. "Anything I should be concerned about?"

"I took care of it."

The sheriff rocked back on his heels thoughtfully as we watched the women in our lives. Molly stood beside her mother, looking longingly at the park across the street as she impatiently fidgeted. She kept tugging at Roza's hand until she gave our daughter a quelling glance of warning. Molly huffed and pouted. I smiled. Molly was very much like her mother in temperament.

The sheriff voiced another token inquiry. "Legally, I hope?"

"No laws were broken." A necessary white lie.

The sheriff snorted softly. "But something else _was_," he argued perceptively.

"Nothing not deserved," I replied, and then added, "There won't be a problem."

"Glad to hear it."

Having fulfilled his official duty, the sheriff wandered a short distance away to speak with an older man wearing a dark tan western suit and a Stetson. A younger blond man of around twenty-five stood beside him watching Roza with affection. He smiled at Molly's antics and she waved to him when he caught her attention. My eyes narrowed with instant dislike and I growled jealously. I felt a sudden desire to pummel him. It was the same instinct I felt whenever I recalled Adrian's interest in Roza. I wanted to eradicate the competition.

I noted with relief that Roza had finished her conversation and was walking in my direction. Molly skipped happily at her side and Petra was talking a mile a minute. The green-eyed blond reminded me greatly of the Queen … tall, slender, pretty, and vivacious. According to the sheriff, his daughter and Roza had formed an instant friendship three and half years ago. In spite of Roza's amnesia, she'd instinctively sought out a girl friend very much like Lissa.

Petra ran over to her father and hugged him. "Thanks for waiting, Daddy, but I'm going to the park with Rosa and Molly. They'll drop me at the house on their way home."

"Okay, Petal," the sheriff said affectionately. He gave me a hard stare over her shoulder. _'Don't let anything happen to my daughter,' _was his unspoken message. I nodded my understanding. "Don't wait dinner for me tonight. I'm working a double shift today," he told Petra.

"Alright, Daddy. Have a good day." Petra kissed her father and walked toward us. She grinned at me and held out her hand. "Hi. I'm Petra Stewart. You must be Dimitri."

"Yes, I am. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Stewart," I greeted, shaking her outstretched hand.

She blushed and looked at Roza. They carried on an eyebrow conversation: one of those silent parodies that only women can interpret. Petra faced me and smiled brightly. "Oh, the _pleasure_ is all mine, I can assure you," she said flirtatiously. I saw Roza roll her eyes from my periphery.

"Dimitri, we're going to the park across the street," Roza interrupted. "Um, we can walk over," she added hopefully. I surveyed the park and its playground nearby to a pond where children were playing. A car park was adjacent. It was almost full, but there were a few vacant spaces.

"We'll take the car," I said decisively.

Roza pointed and huffed, "But it's right there –"

"We'll take the car," I repeated.

She scowled and stomped away toward the BMW, dragging Molly with her. Petra followed and I brought up the rear, unlocking the car as I neared it. When she heard the locking mechanism release, she opened the rear door. I could hear her muttering from ten feet distant as she changed Molly into jeans and a sweater. None of her mutterings was complimentary. I smiled secretly. She was _still_ my Rose Hathaway.

When we reached the park, I leaned casually against a tree, my guardian mask in place as I surveyed the area for threats or danger. Roza and Petra had found a bench to sit on where they could supervise Molly. She glanced between me and our daughter as Petra talked animatedly beside her.

The little girl had run immediately to the jungle-gym dome, climbing it like a monkey. Her movements were agile and natural as she swung from bar to bar and then she dangled upside down, hooking her knees and ankles to secure her position. I watched anxiously as she swayed back and forth, faster and faster until her tiny body catapulted upward and she grabbed a bar with both hands. She released her legs and climbed down from the structure, jumping the last three feet and rolling into a standing position on the sand.

I grinned proudly. Already, I could see that she'd make a natural guardian – except, I wasn't sure I wanted that for my daughter. When I'd realized that Rosa was Roza and she'd introduced me to Molly, I'd felt instant love for the little girl. That initial sense of familiarity I'd felt when I'd first set eyes on Molly had become clear to me. It was a father's recognition of his own flesh and blood. Molly had my eyes and hair, and Roza's nose and mouth. She was a perfect blend of us both and already a beauty, not to mention a handful … like her mother.

That moment when I'd first seen Roza had been surreal. She'd taken my breath away with how beautiful she was. Her hair was long – hanging to the middle of her back – and her skin glowed with health and vitality. The fine facial scars, which had been so prominent in my dream had faded to silver and were barely noticeable when covered with makeup.

She'd been cutting roses when I'd first seen her and my heart had stopped for a beat. When I'd spoken her name, I'd thought for a moment that she'd recognized me. Sadly, she hadn't. She'd looked at me as if I were a complete stranger she was meeting for the first time, and when she'd asked me to repeat my name, I knew then that she didn't remember me.

It took every bit of my guardian training and experience not to display my feelings … to behave as if she was every bit a stranger to me as I was to her. When I'd shaken her outstretched hand, all I'd wanted to do was pull her into my arms and hold her forever, never letting her go again, but I couldn't. Not only did she not know me, but she had also written a book about vampires and I still had a job to do. For her sake, I had to ensure that nothing she wrote would endanger our society.

I moved my eyes off Molly, who was running toward the slide, and shifted them back to Roza. She was nodding like an automaton while Petra talked, and yet, she wasn't paying attention. I studied her blond friend. She could have been another Vasilisa, except the Queen had never flirted with me or spoken suggestively.

Petra Stewart had arranged the seating in the car so that she was sitting beside me and Roza was in the back next to Molly. Roza's friend had flirted shamelessly, giggling and touching my hand, and speaking suggestively. I'd nearly choked when she'd asked me breathily if she could call me Dimmy because Dimitri was just too _hard_ to get her _tongue_ around. I'd heard Rose growl under her breath, and as I'd looked into the mirror, her eyes had narrowed dangerously as she'd glared daggers at Petra.

"_Not if you expect me to answer,"_ I'd told her coolly. I'd removed her wandering hand from my knee and returned it to her with a quelling glance of disapproval. She'd _seemed_ so innocent and ladylike only fifteen minutes earlier. She'd pouted and flounced against her seat, her arms crossed over her flattish chest. It was difficult to believe that the young woman was twenty-two years old, or perhaps my expectations of responsibility and maturity in young women had already been set four years earlier. My gaze had flicked again to the mirror and I'd seen Roza smirking.

Switching my gaze to Molly, I saw her running toward me. She skidded to a stop getting dust all over her white shoes. I think they were called Mary Jane's.

"Whatchya doin' over here, Dimtree?" she asked. I smiled at her attempt to say my name.

"I'm just enjoying the scenery, Molly," I answered as I crouched down to her level. I made sure I could still see Roza. Molly frowned and looked behind her to ascertain what I might have been looking at.

"Do you like the pond, Dimtree? We've got a pond at home. The cows drink from it, but the duckies like to swim on it too. I can show you if you like."

I smiled. "I'd like that very much, Molly."

"Dimtree will you push me on the swing? Mommy's busy listening to Petra talk." She rolled her eyes and leaned closer to whisper, "She never shuts up."

I coughed to hide my laugh. My little girl was very observant … and cheeky. "Yes, I'll push you on the swing, but you mustn't say things like that about your mommy's friends." I stood up and took Molly by the hand, but she shook her head and raised both arms.

"Up!" she commanded.

"You want me to carry you?"

She nodded. "Yes, please." I was hesitant to comply with her wishes despite the desire in my chest that ached to hold my daughter. I looked around and seeing no immediate threats to Roza, I leaned down and picked up Molly, securing her against my hip. She swung one hand around my neck for security. "Wow, Dimtree, you can see lots from up here."

I chuckled. "Yes, height has its uses," I agreed. As we passed by Roza from several yards away, she looked at me inquiringly. I pointed to the swings and she nodded her understanding. As we reached the equipment, I released Molly and she ran toward a blue seat made from rigid plastic. She sat down and looked at me expectantly. I moved behind her to push.

She giggled and laid her head back to look up at me. "No, silly Dimtree. You need to buckle me in first." She held the two ends of a waist belt.

"Ah. Thank you for telling me, Molly." After quickly securing the belt, my eyes once again found Roza and I pulled the seat of the swing back a little and pushed Molly forward. When the momentum returned her, I leaned down and pushed her again.

"Is that all you've got, Dimtree?" Molly asked me after another two pushes. "I want to go higher. Higher please, Dimtree!" I pushed a little harder and looked up to see Roza strolling toward us. She watched us quizzically for a moment and then shrugged.

"She loves the swings."

I chuckled and pushed again. "I can tell."

"She wants a playground set from Santa," Roza told me while Molly was on an upswing and couldn't hear.

"Will he bring her one?" I asked on the next upswing.

"Probably," she said. I hoped I'd be around to assemble it and play with Molly.

"Where's Petra?" I asked Roza, remembering my silent promise to her father.

She pointed to a snack cart vendor. "Buying an ice-cream. Would you like one? I don't think it'll spoil our lunch appetite too much."

"Yes. Thank you, I'll have strawberry."

Her eyebrows rose. "Hmm. I wouldn't have taken you for a strawberry man."

"It reminds me of summer."

"That's what Maili says." She moved to a position a safe distance from the front of the swing. "Maili, do you want ice-cream?" Roza called.

"Yes, Mommy. Strawberry, please."

"No kidding," I heard her mutter.

I brought the swing to a gentle halt and Roza stepped forward to release the waist belt and free Molly. She jumped out and grabbed my hand and then her mother's as we strolled to the ice-cream vendor. For a few moments that I would cherish forever, we were just like a normal family.

* * *

While Roza carried Molly upstairs for her afternoon nap, I used the time alone to text Lissa.

_*I must speak with you urgently. I'll call tonight at 8. Make sure you're alone and somewhere private. Dimitri.*_

Slipping the phone into my shirt pocket, I made my way into the kitchen to speak with Roza's housekeeper. She sat at the wooden kitchen table reading a magazine and drinking coffee. "Gina?" I called quietly.

"Guardian Belikov," she greeted, looking up at me.

"And you're Guardian Paschal?" She nodded. "You've spoken with Zmey?"

"Yes. Twice today. The last time was at 11:30 this morning." She half smiled. "He was at the local hospital having his nose set." I remained silent. "You know, he only did what he did to protect Rose. She was in danger … still is."

"He lied to me … lied to my face when I asked for his help to find her. He knew she was alive the entire time," I said, my voice hard. "He falsified evidence … made me believe that she'd died as a strigoi." I breathed heavily as my anger heightened. "He lied to Rose's mother –"

Gina shook her head. "Abe didn't lie to Janine … he just never told her what he knew."

"Semantics," I argued. "A lie of omission is still a lie."

"It was necessary –"

"Everyone keeps saying that!" I hissed. "The people who loved Rose would have looked after her … protected her from Gusarov had we known. I would have –"

Gina scoffed and stood up from the table to refill her coffee mug. "What? What would you have done, Belikov? You were a guardian with no power, money, or connections that had broken the trust placed in you." I flinched. "_Abe_ was struggling to stay one step ahead of Gusarov. What could you have done that he wasn't already doing – he with his endless money and contacts in the moroi _and_ the human world." My eyelids flickered as her words struck a nerve. Gina clonked her mug onto the counter. "Would you have quit your job to sit with Rose for months? Explained to the authorities how an academy teacher and a respected guardian to the Princess Dragomir had had an affair with her best friend – a seventeen-year-old girl. Would you have tried to marry her when she woke up… a young woman who didn't remember you, to legitimize the child she carried – your child?"

I gasped. "How do you know that?"

"DNA – Abe had you and Molly tested." I swore. "And she's a carbon copy of you."

"She looks like Roza," I rebutted.

"She looks like you both," Gina conceded. "It's only a matter of time before people notice ... before Rose notices."

I sagged and sat down at the table, dragging my hand through my hair. As much as I hated to admit it, what Gina had said was reasonable and unfortunately true. There wasn't much I could have done. I likely would have been arrested and Janine Hathaway never would have let me near Rose again … or my daughter. Nevertheless –

"Janine needs to know," I said, "so does the Queen." Gina spun around and knocked over her coffee mug. Black coffee flowed over the counter edge and splashed across the travertine-tiled floor. She swore and reached across the counter for a towel. As she crouched down, with her back toward me, I noticed the nape of her neck below her upswept hair. My lips parted in shock. "Where are your marks?"

Her head swiveled in my direction. She stood up and threw the wet rag toward the sink and it landed with perfect accuracy. "I had them removed. Rose has two molnija marks – she would have noticed mine and asked questions. Lightning crosses aren't a common tattoo."

I was stunned. No dhampir would ever dream of having their marks removed – they were what defined us as guardians. She must care for Rose a great deal, or else she owed Zmey a tremendous favor. He was good at collecting debts and I wondered what he'd done for Gina and also Alberta Petrov to gain their cooperation. I gestured to Gina to turn around and she bent her head. Her nape was perfectly smooth and unscarred with no trace of the lifetime of strigoi kills I suspected she'd made. Even her promise mark had been removed.

"How?"

"Dermabrasion. I had to undergo multiple treatments in quick succession. A spirit user Abe knows healed the wounds." She pulled out of my hold and turned around. "How are you hiding your own marks?"

"Nothing as radical as what you did." Her brow rose curiously. "Cover up foundation … a gift from the Queen." She laughed and turned me around to lift my hair. I felt her finger stroke over my skin. "They're still faintly visible. The makeup will come off when you sweat. You'll need to be careful," she cautioned me. I nodded and returned to the table. "What will you tell the Queen?" she asked as she followed me.

"The truth."

"She'll want to come here."

"I know."

"How will you stop her?"

"I probably won't be able to," I admitted.

"Then you'll need to convince her to come incognito … and limit her guards."

"Yes, I thought that too. Hans Croft isn't going to like it."

She half laughed, half snorted. "Hans Croft doesn't like anything he can't control."

"Neither does Janine Hathaway," I said, reminding her about the other person who needed to know that Rose was alive. "What's Abe going to do about Janine? He can't keep Rose a secret from her mother for much longer."

Gina sighed. "He knows. He's tracking her down as we speak. I think it's a mistake. She'll barrel in here and take over. She'll expect Rose to return to moroi society where she'll be an easy target for Gusarov. She'll want Rose to dump Molly at the Academy like _she_ did and return to her guardian duties."

My mouth tightened. "That's _not_ going to happen. I won't let it. Neither will the Queen nor Abe," I said darkly. I might be pissed at Abe for his lies, but I knew that above all else, he loved his daughter and wanted only the best for her. He also wanted her alive. I shook my head. "Rose is no longer capable of being a guardian. She was too badly injured and she doesn't remember that life anymore … or that vampires are real."

"She's still a great fighter," Gina told me, "but you're right, she wouldn't stand a chance against strigoi. She has her own life now and a successful career and she's forgotten that the moroi come first." Gina sneered at the refrain that had been drummed into dhampir children from the time they were born.

"You speak like you no longer believe it yourself," I remarked.

"I don't," she confirmed, but didn't elaborate. I didn't ask. She was entitled to some privacy about her personal views. They weren't dissimilar to my own.

Rose came into the kitchen dressed in exercise clothes, her hair tied up in a high ponytail. She no longer wore her eyeglasses "Maili is down for the count," she said, addressing Gina. "I'm heading to the gym."

"Would you object to some company, Roza?" I was keen to see what she could do.

She hesitated for a moment and then shrugged. "Not at all. Come downstairs when you're ready." She filled her water bottle and disappeared down the stairs to the basement, which wasn't really a basement at all. It was a series of recreational and entertaining spaces that ran the entire width of the house. The area could be extended into the outdoors and the heated swimming pool beyond. After changing into workout gear, I returned to the kitchen to get my own water. Gina handed me a towel and I thanked her before running lightly down the stairs.

Roza was sitting on the floor, stretching, and I did the same, positioning myself so that I faced her. She'd removed her makeup, and I glimpsed the scars on her face as well as one on her chest I hadn't noticed before. It ran from midway between her breasts and disappeared beneath her sleeveless top. Had her heart been injured? Abe had said that all of her major organs had ruptured – did that include her heart as well? I vowed to be careful with her if she agreed to spar with me as I hoped she would – it was truly the only way I would ascertain her current skill level.

As she turned to the side, a long scar on her left bicep spoke of a seriously broken arm. There was another scar along her collarbone and when she changed sides, there was yet another on the side of her right leg – this one the worst. It began just above her ankle and ran in an unbroken straight line to her knee before it disappeared under her exercise tights. There were bumps under the skin at her ankle and knee of the kind made by surgical pins and screws used to fuse shattered bone together.

For a moment, I felt eaten alive by a combination of nausea and rage that Nathan Voda and Sonya Karp had caused such grievous injuries to Rose. They were both very, very lucky they were already dead. I covertly searched her neck and wrists for fang scars and relaxed when I couldn't see any evidence. At least they hadn't bitten her. If they had, Abe might have found it difficult to convince hospital staff and police that the bites didn't exist. In spite of Abe's money and connections, mass compulsion of humans on an extended scale would have been fraught with problems.

"What happened to your leg?" I asked. I hoped she might confide in me, since her visible scars didn't seem to bother her.

"Huh? Oh, I was in a car crash. It was badly broken," she admitted as she sprang lightly to her feet. I watched her walk to the punching bag hanging from the ceiling. Her gait was smooth and unaffected to the average eye, but _my_ discerning eye wasn't average. Dhampirs were born with enhanced vision and as a guardian and trainer of novices – and more particularly, Roza – I was able to detect any weakness in my opponent. Roza's range of movement in her right leg and at the hip joint was less than it had been four years earlier. She donned gloves and began punching the bag.

I walked to a freestanding punching bag and began my own routine. We trained separately in silence for thirty minutes and during that time, I studied how Rose punched and kicked. She used both legs, but she favored her right one, which didn't quite have the power and delivery it used to have.

"Do you feel like sparring for a bit, Roza?" I asked when she took a break from the bag. "I'm pretty good," I added as incentive. I smiled at her encouragingly as I strolled toward her. She gasped and blushed. I turned my head to the side and assessed her curiously. Did she remember something? She noticed me studying her and affected a pose of nonchalance.

"Sure thing. Why not," she agreed. I followed her to the training mats in the center of the gym, smiling secretly to myself. I realized that Roza _liked_ me. "What size sparring gloves do you need?" she asked. I told her and she handed me a pair, before selecting some for herself.

"Before we begin," I said in my trainer voice, "I noticed you wearing glasses earlier today. Are you wearing contact lenses?"

She shook her head. "No. I train without corrective lenses. If I was in a situation where I _had_ to fight, I'd probably lose them and be disadvantaged."

I smiled proudly. She used her other senses to fight. Good, very good. We circled each other for a minute or so and I used the time to study how she moved while she did the same. She watched me intently, her right eye more focused than the left, and her head tipped to the side ever so slightly as she listened to my movements and breathing.

I made the first move. She blocked and returned with her own jab. I blocked and returned, connecting with her left shoulder. She staggered, but stayed on her feet. She came at me and kicked out with her left leg, striking me in the stomach. I grunted and came toward her striking out toward her left hip. My hit made her stumble but she corrected quickly. We each blocked strike after strike, getting in a several jabs and kicks on the other. I deliberately coached her in such a way that she would have to use her right leg to defeat me. My previous assessment of the limb was accurate. It was her weakest link in a fight.

We carried on, exchanging blows until I hooked my foot around her right ankle and took her to the floor. I made sure she landed with most of her weight on her left leg and hip, and as I followed her down, I caged her body with my arms and legs. During our spar, I'd consciously stayed away from her face, head, and chest, but she did an excellent job of protecting herself without my help. She knew her own limitations. I released her and she rolled away, climbing to her feet. Almost immediately, I noticed her limping on her right leg.

"Enough. You're good," I complimented her.

"So are you," she puffed through a bright smile. "That was the most fun I've had in a long time. It's hard to find a worthy opponent in a small town."

"You could be better," I told her, "but you favor your right leg and any attacker will pick up on that quickly." She removed her gloves and returned them to the rack. I did the same. "I can train you, if you'd like," I offered. "I can give you some tips to extend your range to compensate for the lack of power in your right side."

She looked at me curiously. "Really? You'd do that. Where'd you train?"

"Army. Ex Special Forces," I told her, giving her the party line on my curriculum vitae. She looked impressed.

"Were you in Afghanistan?"

I nodded. "Yes, for two years."

"Um, why'd you leave?" she asked hesitantly.

"I had enough of death and destruction," I told her.

"Well, the Army's loss is my gain, I suppose. I'm going to, ah, have a shower. I'll let you know about the training," she said, but I knew she'd accept. If I knew Rose Hathaway at all – and I believed I did – she'd _never_ turn down a challenge.

* * *

That evening while Roza was putting Molly to bed, I told her I was going to patrol the perimeter around the homestead, but I also had a phone call to make to the Queen. After completing my perimeter check and finding nothing out of the ordinary, I sought a spot amongst some trees a good distance from the house where I wouldn't be overhead if my voice carried on the cold night air.

"Hello, Dimitri?"

"Yes, Lissa, it's me," I confirmed quietly.

"Have you found out something already? That was quick."

"You could say that," I replied. "Lissa, you'd better sit down for this." I heard movement over the phone.

"Alright, I'm sitting," she told me worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Lissa, I don't know how to tell you this, so I'm just going to say it: Rosa Campbell is Rosemarie Hathaway. Rose is alive." Silence. Then, I heard a startled squeak, a thump, and a mumbled epithet. My guardian nature was instantly alarmed. "Lissa, are you alright?!" I whisper-shouted.

"Yes, I'm fine. I fell off the chair," she said, her tone embarrassed. "It was the shock. Um, Dimitri, what makes you so sure? Despite your dream and Yeva's vision, it's been so long since Rose was taken. She must be dead or strigoi. Perhaps this Rosa Campbell just looks like Rose –"

I interrupted her. "It's true, Lissa. Rosa _is_ Rose. She was nearly killed in a car crash that killed Nathan Voda and Sonya Karp four years ago."

She gasped. "No. I don't believe it," she insisted. "Why did we not know of the accident and how is it possible that strigoi could be killed in a car crash? They're almost invincible."

"Even strigoi are susceptible to decapitation and fire in a high speed crash with a fuel tanker, Lissa. They were killed instantly. Rose was in the trunk and survived – barely. She was rescued by the truck driver before the tanker and the car exploded. She's been living in Whitefish ever since." I paused and then added, "Rose has made a new life for herself."

Lissa was silent for a long time; so long that I thought the line had dropped out, and then she asked quietly, "Are you saying that she remembers what happened and she stayed away on purpose? Rose wouldn't do that to us," she stated adamantly.

"No, I'm not saying that. My dream and Yeva's vision were accurate. She has permanent amnesia and she has a daughter – my daughter. Her name is Molly. Rose's father Abe Mazur has kept them hidden all these years and … Alberta Petrov knows she's alive. She always has," I confessed. I knew I'd just dropped Alberta into hot water, but the secrets amongst trusted friends had to stop if we were to help and protect Roza.

"What?!" she breathed. "But, but … she sat in that conference room not two days ago and never said a word. She must have known who Rosa Campbell was."

"She does know. Abe has her helping him. I don't know why though. Lissa, Rose already has a bodyguard. Her name is Gina Paschal and she works as Rose's housekeeper. Rose doesn't know who or what Gina is. She's one of Abe's employees."

"Is Paschal her real name?" I could hear Lissa searching for a pen and paper. "Spell it please." I did as she asked.

"Lissa, please be careful in your inquiries. Abe kept Rose hidden for a reason … a very good reason."

"What reason? What could be serious enough for Abe Mazur to fake his own daughter's death?" she demanded angrily. I understood her resentment toward Rose's father. I'd felt exactly the same way this morning.

I exhaled roughly and tugged at my hair. "One of Abe's enemies had Rose marked. He hired Sonya Karp to bring her to him." I told her what I knew about the attack on the academy and Gusarov's reasons for wanting Rose to use her against Zmey. "Abe is afraid that your interest in a human author will lead Gusarov straight to her. He said Gusarov has spies at Court and he's the one we suspect is stalking her. Gusarov knows something, Lissa. We just don't know what he knows or who he has working for him."

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea," she said coldly.

I was surprised. "You do? Who?"

"Claudia Lazar," she spat.

"Fuck," I muttered and then I remembered with whom I was speaking. "Forgive me, Your Majesty –"

"Never mind, I was thinking the exact same thing," Lissa said. "Claudia Lazar may not understand the significance of the _Guardians _book in Gusarov's plan, but I bet my throne she's his stooge. She hates me and she has all sorts of contacts … not all of them pleasant. An association with an unsavory character like Aristotle Gusarov would be right up her alley." I wasn't surprised that Lissa knew who and what Gusarov was. As Queen, she was expected to know those things. "I'll get Hans Croft to keep a close eye on her. In the meantime, I'll feed misinformation about Rosa Campbell to the council."

"Make it believable, Lissa. We don't want to lead Gusarov to her."

"I will." Silence. "I'm coming there," Lissa said resolutely. "I _want_ to see Rose."

"Would it do any good to ask you not to?" I said, already knowing the answer. "If Gusarov _is_ using Claudia Lazar, he means to draw you out so you'll lead him straight to Rose."

She hesitated before answering, longing evident in her voice. "I know, but I still _want_ to see her. I _need_ to see her."

I sighed. "Alright, Lissa, but you must be very careful. Don't leave Court immediately and when you do, use false identification and credit cards. Travel under a pseudonym on a commercial airline and don't bring more than two guardians with you. Tell them to dress like civilians and make sure you aren't followed. There's an airport at Kalispell about twelve miles south of Whitefish. I'll book a cabin for you at _The Lodge_ on Whitefish Lake. Let me know what name to use."

"Thanks. I can't believe she's alive," she said with equal parts wonder and disbelief.

"Neither could I. It's still hard to fathom and I've spent the day with her."

"How is she?" Lissa asked.

"She's … Rose and yet she's not," I answered simply. There was no other way to describe her. "Lissa, you can't rush her. I'll introduce you and your guards as colleagues or something, but you'll have to go at her pace … get to know her again. She doesn't remember you. She doesn't remember anybody. You need to prepare yourself that she might never feel for you what she did before. We're all strangers to her."

"I'll be careful," she promised. I don't think she realized how hard it would be. "Oh, I can't wait to tell Christian and Adrian!"

"No!"

"What?! Why not? They'll be thrilled, especially Adrian."

"Please, Lissa, no. Too many people know as it is, and Adrian can't be trusted to keep his mouth shut when he's been drinking. Wait for a while. I'm begging you ..."

She sighed. "Alright, Dimitri. I'll trust that you know best. I won't tell Adrian, but I have to tell Christian. He'll never let me leave Court for an extended period without knowing why. I'll be there within the week. I'll let you know before I travel."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Dimitri." We hung up.

"Well that went better than expected," I murmured aloud. I stepped away from the copse of trees and surveyed the lake. All was calm and quiet. I wondered how long it would last. My instincts were screaming that everything was about to fall apart.

* * *

**Rosa's POV**

When I came downstairs after putting Maili to bed and reading her a story, I felt weary to the bone – literally. My sparring session with Dimitri had taken more out of me than I ever expected. I'd never trained with an opponent quite like him before and he'd really worked me over. Normally, I beat most of my opponents at the Community Center – even the skilled males who were all larger and heavier than I was. My intuition told me that Dimitri had held back and I wondered what he'd be like if he really let go. My instincts screamed that he was lethal, with or without a weapon, and I hazarded a guess that _he_ himself _was_ a weapon.

I limped into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. I was so exhausted and sore, I decided to soak in a hot bath and read in bed until I fell asleep. Taking my virgin toddy ingredients from the fridge, I poured out a generous measure of milk and broke a bar of chocolate into the pot. A squeeze of honey for extra sweetness, and then I stirred gently as the milk heated and melted the chocolate. Chocolate the exact color of Dimitri's eyes …

Hmm, Dimitri. My heartbeat fluttered in response. He was very handsome, and though he'd pissed me off over the driving incident, it didn't change the fact that I also found him incredibly attractive. There was something about him that intrigued me, and his cologne … _my God_ … his cologne made him smell divine. The scent was overpoweringly familiar to me. The entire time we'd been sparring, I'd wanted to tackle him to the floor and ravage him. It had taken every bit of my self-control to resist the urge not to attack him … in a non-combat manner.

In four years, I'd never before felt quite this way about a man. Sure, I'd flirted and dated and I'd even been attracted to other men before – James Coulter came immediately to mind – but the attraction had never been deep enough on my part to entice me into doing anything about it.

At first, I'd been recovering and learning to be a mother, and then I was discovering who I was and who I wanted to be. I hadn't made a lot of time for dating, though I _had_ dated James as well as Jackson, my instructor and now colleague at the Community Center.

I wasn't certain I could even describe my emotions about Dimitri. I felt fluttery inside and girlish – a sensation I hadn't felt in a very long time – and I was jealous of my best friend's attention to him. Petra's shameless flirtation with Dimitri that morning had inexplicably annoyed me. She'd raved on and on for nearly an hour about him until I'd felt an urgent and unfamiliar desire to slap her stupid. I'd restrained myself of course – Petra was my best friend – but it had been hard to control the urge to warn her away from him.

I'd known the man barely a day, and already I felt possessive of him. My reaction to him was bizarre and uncharacteristic, and whenever he touched me, little jolts of energy would zing along my skin. It was as if my body knew him … had waited for him. For the first time, I _wanted_ to pursue a relationship with a man, but this man was taboo. He was my bodyguard and my employee – well, not mine, my publisher's, but it was the same thing – and a relationship with him would be a bad idea. A very bad idea. I felt a strong compulsion to ignore my common sense and just let nature take its course. The kitchen door opened and the very man I'd been thinking of came inside rubbing his hands together to warm them.

"It's cold out," he commented.

I admired his chill-flushed face. "Winter comes early to northern Montana," I told him. He smiled and my heart fluttered again. I felt my face blushing hotly. Stupid blood.

"It does," he agreed, "but it's not as cold as Russia."

"You've visited?" I was surprised, though I shouldn't have been.

"Yes, many times. It's very beautiful. Parts of Russia and Siberia are similar to the Rockies: soaring mountain landscapes, forests and crystal blue lakes … and snow … lots of snow and ice during the winter." He made it sound beautiful. Perhaps it was the cadence of his voice … that sexy Russian accent of his that gave his words something a little extra.

"What about during the summer?"

"Ah, the summer. In the summer, it's warm and the forests of the Ural Mountains are teeming with elk, brown bear, fox, and wolves. The Altai Mountains, which are closest to my hometown are truly stunning. They too abound with animals. I especially like the snow leopards. Regrettably, poaching and loss of habitat are taking their toll and some species are endangered. My favorite city is St Petersburg," he added as he walked toward me. "Your milk is scalding." He reached out to kill the gas flame and lift the frothing milk pot, pouring the hot chocolate into the waiting mug on the counter.

"Um, would you like some," I offered, suddenly nervous at his close proximity. My breath caught in my throat and I had to swallow. "I made too much," I added hoarsely.

"I'd like that, thank you. It will warm me up."

_I'd like __**you**__ to warm me up. _The thought was so random and sudden that I fumbled as I reached into the cabinet for another mug. I shoved it at him, blushing madly when he looked at me oddly. _Christ almighty. Get a grip Rosa!_ Picking up my own cup, I shuffled over to the kitchen table and pulled out a chair wanting only to sit and take the weight off my leg.

"You're still limping," Dimitri said worriedly as he followed me.

I glanced at him tiredly. "Hmm, it's not the first time, but yeah, you really gave me a workout today. My leg's a bit stiff and achy," I confessed. I was back in control now that I wasn't standing close to him.

"I went too hard on you," he said guiltily. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, and no you didn't. I enjoyed sparring with you and I want to learn from you. I think perhaps that I've grown complacent sparring with the same people all the time. We're all fairly matched skill wise at the Community Center, so there's no challenge anymore."

"So you accept my offer to train you?" He seemed eager for an affirmative answer.

I nodded. I knew it was unwise to spend too much social time with Dimitri, but I really wanted to. "Yes, I do."

He grinned. "Good. We'll begin on Tuesday," he decreed.

"What about tomorrow?" I argued.

"You need to rest that leg tomorrow and … you need to explain your limitations to me." I bit my lip and stared at the table. "Roza," Dimitri said softly, "I've noticed your scars. You've obviously been in a serious accident. I won't spar with you again, until I understand what damage I might do. I need to know what to avoid so I can plan a suitable training program for you."

I sighed. "Alright," I conceded. "I'll tell you tomorrow. I'm too tired to do it now."

"Fair enough."

We drank our hot chocolate in silence, while I scraped together the nerve to ask him for another favor. "Um, Dimitri, I was wondering – and feel free to say no – but, would you maybe like to help me with my research." His brow crinkled and I explained further. "Um, my third book is set in Russia. I need help with places and the language."

Understanding dawned. "That's right, you write vampire books for young adults. I understand your first novel was well received."

I blushed. "Yeah, um, yes, I've done well for myself. My second book is due out in time for Christmas and I'm working on the third book in the series," I babbled.

"What made you decide to write about vampires?" he asked curiously as he sipped his drink. He watched me intently and I sensed that I had his complete attention.

"It's a popular genre amongst teens and young adults," I told him. "When I first started writing, my mentor told me to write what I know." I laughed. "I can't say that I'm all that familiar with vampires, but she meant that I should include aspects of my own life into my stories."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Well, like horse riding, combat training, skiing, and music. Each of my characters has a small part of me in them and they all use skills that I have. Of course, I make some things up and I need to research those or speak to experts, but with enough information, I can make my lack of expertise seem plausible in a story. The trick is not to go into too much detail," I explained.

"It sounds fascinating," he said, and I really felt that he meant it. "It must be difficult to come up with a unique plot in such a popular genre. Even I've heard of Twilight and the Vampire Diaries," he admitted.

"Why, Mr Belikov," I said flirtatiously, "are you admitting that you read teen vampire fiction."

"Ah, no," he denied with a laugh. "My tastes run more toward westerns."

"I thought as much."

"How?" he asked curiously.

"You wear a duster."

His eyebrow rose skeptically. "You divined my reading habits from the clothes I wear?"

"Yep. Oftentimes, what people wear or carry with them is a reflection of their interests, even if only in a small way."

"Explain," he said.

"Okay, well, you wear a duster – ergo, western novels … or movies. Someone interested in magic might carry around a deck of cards or do coin tricks – they'll probably be Harry Potter fans. A devotee of the vampire genre might wear dark clothes or makeup. Kids are generally more obvious – they wear costumes and carry around props. Sci-fi fans will often declare their interest by wearing a t-shirt printed with Area 51 and a creepy alien on the front." He laughed and I laughed with him. "It's not an exact science, but it usually works for me."

"What's your tell?" he inquired.

I winked and got up from the table to rinse my mug. "I think I'll let you work that one out on your own. Goodnight, Dimitri."

He smiled warmly. "Goodnight, Roza."

* * *

**Dimitri's POV**

The next morning Roza, and therefore I, were up early. She may have agreed to give combat training a rest for one day, but she hadn't agreed not to go running or swimming. Talking Roza out of the former had been unsuccessful, but she did concede to running three miles instead of five. We both dressed in sweats and left the house when it was barely light outside. Fog obscured the lake and much of the landscape around us. Running in those conditions made me uneasy, so I took precautions and brought my stake and a loaded gun with me. I kept both concealed at the small of my back in a special holster.

We ran down the long drive and turned right onto the road, running for a mile before I introduced some conversation. "So, what's on the agenda today?"

She turned to look at me, breathing easily. "Maili has pre-school this morning. She goes Monday to Thursday from nine until one. We'll take her to school and then come home. This afternoon she has gymnastics for an hour, but she should be done by three. After that we're home for the day unless Mrs Martinez calls me in for yet another lecture about Maili's behavior."

"I gather that Molly is rather … boisterous," I said diplomatically.

She snorted. "Boisterous is the kindest adjective ever used by the Mrs Martinez. She prefers unruly, rowdy, and disrespectful. Obstreperous was her least complimentary description. I didn't even know what it meant, but I knew it wasn't good," she said with a hint of remembered irritation. "I had to look it up when I got home."

I'd only known my child for a day, but already she'd won my heart and I saw her as lively and spirited. They weren't bad traits to have. "I don't mean to interfere, but perhaps a different school might suit Molly's temperament better," I suggested.

"You're not … and I've already tried that. This is the second pre-school she's attended. She was, um … asked to leave the last one," Roza reluctantly admitted. I chuckled. So much like her mother. Roza glanced at me as she made another right turn onto a different road, this one on a slight incline. We appeared to be running in a square. "It's not funny, Comrade," she scolded, but I saw her own small smile.

"Yes it is," I argued. "How many three-year-olds get expelled from nursery school?"

"She was two," she mumbled and I laughed again. I know I shouldn't have found amusement in my daughter's unruly behavior, but I wouldn't want her to be any other way. I thought she was delightful.

We made yet another right turn and Roza stopped briefly to open a gate in the railing fence defining the boundary of a property. "This is the rear entrance to the ranch," she explained. "There's a track that winds through the forest and across the pasture."

I frowned. It was easy access. Anyone could enter unseen and scout the property. As we ran through the forest, the light was gloomy despite the rising sun that was slowly burning off the fog. "Does anyone use this track or the rear entrance?" I asked.

"Only me when I run," Roza said, "but I think Lester might use it sometimes."

"Who is Lester?"

"My ranch hand. He lives in an apartment above the stables. I'll introduce you after we take Maili to school."

We descended through the forest and I was pleased when we broke out of the trees into the open. Angus cattle grazed happily in the cold morning air and they ignored us as we passed by them. Only one beast took an interest. It was a large black bull and he came charging at the fence, snorting and stomping his feet. He bellowed loudly and I was about to pull Roza to safety behind me when she stopped and walked toward him. She reached out a hand and rubbed the enormous animal between the eyes and then under his neck. He snuffled in pleasure, but eyed me with distrust and stomped at the ground in an agitated manner.

"Don't come any closer, Dimitri," Rose warned softly. "He doesn't like strangers, but he won't hurt me as long as I don't go into his paddock."

"Alright," I agreed warily. I looked on with incredulity as Roza petted the 2500-pound bull as if it was a cute puppy. It was all the more astounding, because animals were notoriously wary of dhampirs.

"How ya going there, Bert? Are you hungry?" she crooned. Unzipping the waist bag clipped around her middle, she pulled out a handful of two-inch-long brown cylinders and held her hand out to the bull. He mooed loudly in pleasure and his large pink tongue swiped out to capture the pellets. "You're just a big softie, aren't you, Bert?" she cooed as he devoured the treat. He bellowed in disappointment when they were all gone. "That's it for today, buddy," Roza said as she wiped her drool covered hand on her sweatpants. "Tomorrow, old boy."

We left Bert and continued our run along the track that wound through the fenced pasture. I looked around as we ran. The property really was beautiful. "How big is the ranch?" I asked Roza curiously.

"It's only about four hundred and fifty acres. It's not really profitable as a working ranch – it's too small and half of it is forested – but I run a hundred head of cattle give or take ten or twenty. We have ten horses on the ranch too, as well as chickens, ducks, and a few pigs." She smiled engagingly. "I leave the animal husbandry to Lester."

"So you don't have a hankering to be a cowgirl?" I asked, smiling back at her.

"Nope … but I do like living on the ranch. I love the wide-open spaces and it's a great place to bring up kids. Maili loves it here. When this place came up for sale, I'd just received my second quarter royalties, so I decided to buy it. I was living with my parents until then, but it was time to move out on my own."

"Your mother is a doctor, yes … Bridget Hanson?"

"Yeah, so is my father. Nick is a cardio-thoracic surgeon and Bridget is an orthopedic doctor. They both work at the hospital in Whitefish." Given the older couple's professions, I assumed they'd been the ones who had saved Rose's life. I felt eternally grateful and also regretful that I'd never be able to thank them for caring for Roza when I couldn't.

We returned to the house and Rose went to change into her swimsuit. She invited me to swim with her, but I declined. I couldn't very well guard her if I was in the pool rather than standing at attention as I was supposed to. While I waited, I entered the kitchen for some water and a cup of coffee. Gina was preparing breakfast.

"Good morning, Gina."

"Morning, Dimitri." Gina poured coffee and handed me a mug. I sipped the hot brew gratefully.

"Did you have a nice run?"

"Yes, though I don't like Roza running in the fog. It's almost as dangerous as running at night."

"She is determined."

"That she is."

"What would you like for breakfast?" Gina asked.

"Whatever you normally prepare for Roza is fine, thank you."

She counted off, using her fingers. "So eggs, bacon, sausage, grilled tomato, mushrooms, hash-brown, beans, toast and chocolate donuts." My eyes widened and she laughed.

"I'd forgotten about her remarkable appetite. So she still loves chocolate donuts?"

"Oh, yes. She makes me pick up a dozen twice per week. Molly's appetite is a little more sedate, but she can eat heartily too when she's been really active, which is most days." A pang of irritation struck me and I realized I was jealous that Gina knew more about _my_ daughter than I did.

Roza returned clad in a white terry-toweling robe and we headed downstairs to access the heated pool beyond the rear patio. She pressed a couple of buttons on a computer touch pad mounted to the wall and the bi-fold doors folded back. I watched the pool cover retract in the near distance. Steam rose off the water invitingly. We walked out and Roza dropped her towel onto a sun lounge. I saw her peeking at me from my periphery as I focused on a point over her shoulder.

She cleared her throat and released the belt on her robe revealing her svelte body clad in tight red lycra. _My God_, she was gorgeous. The breath caught in my chest as my eyes shifted of their own volition. Her body had matured with age and pregnancy. Her breasts – always a full C – had swelled to a definite D-cup. The mounds were high on her chest and her nipples were perky. She smiled cheekily as she caught me looking, and she dropped the robe at her feet nonchalantly. Her smooth skin had a golden tinge that remained from her summer tanning.

I coughed and clasped my hands behind my back as she deliberately strolled to a diving block in front of me. If I hadn't, I would have reached out and touched her. Keeping my guardian mask securely in place, I watched as she lithely stretched into a classic diving position. Her posture gave me an unobstructed view of her heart shaped butt beneath lush hips delineated by the red fabric. I growled low in my chest and I could have sworn she giggled just before she leaped into the water. The little minx had enticed me deliberately.

I smiled as she swam to the end of the rectangular pool and executed a perfect turn in the water. Her flirtations made her interest obvious. That Roza was attracted to me would make it easier to reestablish a relationship, and I would do my utmost to make that happen … as soon as she was out of danger.

* * *

When I came downstairs after showering and dressing in jeans and V-neck sweater, Roza was in the kitchen with Molly eating breakfast. Molly jumped off her chair when she saw me.

"Dimtree," she squealed. She raced over and hugged me around the legs. I was thrilled by her open affection.

"Good morning, krasivaya devushka."

She grabbed my hand and towed me to the table. "Good morning, Dimtree. What does kras-krasiv …" she stopped and frowned.

"Krasivaya devushka. It means _pretty girl_."

She smiled coyly at being referred to as pretty. "What language is that, Dimtree?"

"Russian."

"Will you teach me?" she asked winsomely.

I smiled, pleased by her interest. "If you like."

She waited expectantly. "Now, Dimtree!" she demanded when I failed to begin the lesson.

"Maili," Roza said in a cautioning tone. "Let Dimitri eat his breakfast."

"No, it's okay," I told Roza and then I turned back to my daughter. "Will it please you if I teach you to say krasivaya devushka today?"

She clapped her hands. "Yes."

Gina placed a brimming breakfast plate and a mug of coffee in front of me. There was juice, milk and cut fruit already on the table. I looked up and thanked her.

"You're welcome." She inclined her head toward Molly. "She was like this with me when she found out I spoke Italian. I had to teach her to say something new every day."

"I speak Italian really good," Molly said around a mouthful of sausage. Roza reached over and wiped her mouth with a napkin.

"You speak Italian really well," Roza corrected, "and don't talk with your mouth full."

She swallowed. "Sorry, Mommy."

I smiled at Molly as I sipped my coffee. "You're very young to know two languages, Molly. Are you sure you want to learn Russian too?"

She nodded her head decisively. "Yes."

"What can you say in Italian?" I asked her, cutting into my bacon and eggs.

She thought for a moment and her face scrunched endearingly. "Posso dire la bella ragazza in italiano." Gina laughed. So did Roza.

"Show off," Roza chastised Molly affectionately.

"What did she say?" Her command of the language was astounding.

Molly volunteered the translation. "I said, _I can say pretty girl in Italian._"

"Ah, you're very clever, malen'kaya devochka. Okay, let us begin your Russian lesson. First, the Russian word for pretty is _krasivaya._" By breaking the word into syllables, Molly learned each sound until she could say them clearly, and then we put them together. By the end of breakfast, she was speaking the words easily. She also insisted on learning the words for _little girl_: malen'kaya devochka. She had an excellent ear for languages and I was immensely pleased that she took after me in that manner.

"It's nearly time to leave for school, Maili. Go wash your hands and get your backpack," Roza said.

Molly climbed off her chair. "Okay, Mommy." She ran to the wide opening leading into the living room where she stopped and turned around. "Dimtree, are you driving us today?"

I nodded. "Yes. Are you okay with that, Molly?"

"Uh huh. Mommy yells bad words at other drivers." Roza gasped. "Mommy thinks I can't hear from the back, but I can … Dimtree, what does fu –"

"Maili!" Roza yelled, flushing as red as a tomato, but she was also trying not to laugh. "That's enough. Go get your bag." Molly shrugged and ran off to her room. I turned in Roza's direction with a cocked brow of inquiry.

"That kid is three going on thirty," Roza muttered.

"She was going to say the F-word, wasn't she?" I scolded.

Her eyes widened and she shrugged guiltily. "Um, maybe. I need my purse," she said hurriedly, and escaped from the room.

* * *

The next week passed in a routine manner. Every morning, Roza and I went running and every morning she swam fifty laps of the pool. Each day, she wore a different color and style of swimsuit, but they all shared two things in common: they were tight and they showed off her fabulous body. We drove Molly to school each morning and collected her after lunch to take her to one of her many extracurricular activities, after which she had an afternoon nap.

While Molly napped, Roza and I sparred in the gym. Roza had told me about her injuries in a clinical manner, and I'd written an appropriate training plan, but I felt she was holding something back from me. Nevertheless, I could already see an improvement in Roza's strength and movements. In the mornings, while Molly was at school, Roza worked on her writing or research and I helped her out on Russia.

On Monday morning, Roza and I had had a chat with Headmistress Martinez about Molly's security. Without revealing too much information, we had warned her that only Roza, Gina, or I could collect Molly. I asked her to keep us informed of any suspicious activity or inquiries. I hesitated to allow Molly to attend school while Gusarov was still out there searching for Rose, but she'd insisted that Molly's schedule remain uninterrupted if possible. Short of telling Roza the truth, there wasn't a great deal I could do about it. I did, however, reluctantly text Zmey about my worries.

Two days later, Alberta Petrov turned up in Whitefish. The next day, she started work at Molly's school as a nursery teacher. I don't know how Zmey did it … I only knew that I was grateful for his assistance whilst at the same time, I hated being indebted to him.

As the week passed, I was astounded that a three-year-old had so many interests. We took her to gymnastics on Monday, swimming lessons on Tuesday, ballet on Wednesday and she had piano at home on Thursday. Friday afternoon she had a riding lesson with Bridget and that week Roza decided to join them. That was the day I put my foot down.

Roza came downstairs with Molly, both of them dressed to ride and I said an unequivocal no to both ladies. They looked at me like I'd said something crazy.

"What do you mean, no?!" Roza asked in a shocked voice. "We _always_ ride on Fridays and Sundays."

"Yeah," Molly added.

Since I'd never ridden a horse before I couldn't go with them; therefore, they couldn't go either. "Roza, can I speak with you for a moment, please?" She scowled but followed me away from where Molly could overhear our conversation. "Roza, I can't ride."

Her lips parted in surprise and she leaned closer. "How can you be a wannabe cowboy and not know how to ride?" she hissed.

I stiffened at the mild insult. "I never took the time to learn … and animals don't really like me," I admitted.

"So. They don't really like me either, but I didn't let that stop me."

"Nevertheless, you can't ride without me."

"Fine. Do you have a pair of sturdy boots?"

I frowned. "Yes."

"Good. Go put them on."

"Why?"

"Because, _we're_ going riding today as we usually do, and you, Dimitri Belikov are about to have your first lesson." She walked off to collect Maili and strode toward the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder as I stared at her, and her eyes rolled impatiently. "Go. Now!"

I went upstairs to my room resigned to learning to ride a horse. I hated to admit it, but I was nervous about the lesson. Regardless, if Roza insisted on riding, then I would have to do it. It might turn out to be a good thing, I decided. Riding would allow me to patrol more of the ranch than I ever could on foot.

I entered my room and saw that Gina had been in there cleaning. The dark king-sized sleigh bed had clean sheets; she'd dusted and vacuumed and the bathroom gleamed. As I changed my shoes, my cell phone rang. The number displayed said it was Lissa. She was up early … or very late, depending on how you looked at it.

"Hello, Lissa."

"Hi, Dimitri. How is everything? How's Rose?"

"She's good. Everything is fine here. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Okay, well, we're arriving tomorrow. It's not too late to book accommodation at The Lodge for us, is it?"

"I don't think so. The ski season hasn't started yet. What travel arrangements have you made?"

"We're arriving on Delta airlines from Philadelphia via Minneapolis. The flight gets in at 1:30. I've reserved a hire car at Kalispell." She rattled off the flight numbers. I wrote down the information using a notepad and pen I kept on my bedside table. "Um, Dimitri?"

"Yes?"

"Christian's coming too." I groaned and Lissa hurried to explain. "When I told him where I was going and why, he refused to let me go without him."

"Well, I suppose it's not entirely unexpected. What about Adrian?"

"He has no clue. I sent him to St Vladimir's to help a newly declared spirit user. I know it's not ideal him being in Montana when we are, but I had to distract him somehow."

"Lissa, Adrian's not stupid. He'll notice I'm not on campus."

"I know, but you're hardly ever there, so he won't think it's unusual."

"Perhaps not," I conceded, "but, Lissa, Alberta's not at the academy either, and Adrian might remember her. He wasn't drunk for the entire time he lived there."

"He won't think anything of it," Lissa said confidently. "As far as he or anyone else will know, Guardian Petrov is on a long deserved vacation in the Bahamas."

The news genuinely startled me. "You already know that Alberta's not at St Vladimir's?"

"Yes, I arranged it when Zmey asked me."

"I don't understand. Are you saying that Zmey called you and asked for a guardian?"

"No. I called him to give him a piece of my mind. I'm the Queen, so he had to listen to me. I threatened to have his fangs extracted if he ever lied about Rose like that again. He only laughed at me," she said, sounding insulted, "but I meant it! He explained everything and he told me you'd texted him about Molly being unprotected while at school. Since Alberta already knows, I volunteered her to be Molly's guardian. A compelling word or two to Hans Croft and it was all nicely arranged," she explained, supremely pleased with herself. I was stunned and the power of speech left me. "Dimitri, are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here, Your Majesty. Lissa, I don't know what to say … how to thank you … how to repay you," I stumbled out.

"No thanks are necessary, Dimitri. You and Rose were prepared to lay down your lives for me and Rose actually did a couple of times. So did you. I'd do anything for both of you and that includes Molly. Listen, Dimitri, I have to go. I've got to pack and get some sleep before we leave in the morning. By the way, I'm using the name Lisa Ambrose and Christian is using Christopher Roman. Text me with the accommodation arrangements. I'll see you tomorrow."

As soon as we hung up, I dialed the number for _The Lodge_ and booked a three-bedroom, two-bathroom luxury cabin for a week. The receptionist assured me that the cabin was isolated, yet close enough to the main building for safety. It could sleep six and it had its own garage, kitchen, laundry, and swimming pool. It was perfect. I quickly texted the information to Lissa and left the room.

* * *

**Gusarov's POV**

"Geia."

A hesitant voice spoke. "Mr Gusarov, it's me."

"Ah, my little blood whore, what news do you have for me?"

"The Queen is going to Montana tomorrow."

"She goes to Montana all the time. Why is this occasion special?"

"Um, she's not going to St Vladimir's. She's going to Kalispell."

Ah, this was more interesting. I drained the ouzo in my glass and poured another. "Why?"

The whore's voice dropped to a whisper. "Someone called Dimitri is there … and, um, Rose. The Queen wants to visit this Rose person."

I paused with the glass halfway to my mouth. Bingo!

"Anything else?" I exchanged my glass for the black fountain pen on my solid oak desk. The pen had once belonged to Winston Churchill, or so I'd been led to believe.

"Yes," the whore said timidly. "The Queen is travelling with Christian Ozera. They're using different names and, um, they're flying on a commercial flight with Delta." She rattled off the flight numbers and I wrote them down along with the pseudonyms the royals were using. They weren't very original.

"Where are they staying?"

"It's a place called The Lodge."

"And how are they getting to this lodge?"

"Hire car, sir."

"Very good. You've done well my little pórni̱ aímatos."

"Th-thank you, Mr Gusarov. Um, you won't hurt them will you … the Queen and Lord Ozera?"

I shrugged, not that the whore could see it. "Not if they don't get in my way."

She giggled nervously. I'd have to stop Robert from compelling her so much … she wasn't quite all there anymore. She'd served her purpose in any case.

"Will you tell Jimmy I love him," she begged. I looked over to the young man slumped on the sofa and rolled my eyes. Her precious Jimmy was addicted to moroi endorphins. He barely recognized his own name any more, but he _was_ tasty.

"I'll tell him," I agreed. Whatever kept her happy and cooperative.

"I have to go. The Queen's returning," she said agitatedly. I heard a door close in the background and a feminine voice calling the whore's name.

"Fine. Call me if you have any more news." I hung up.

I tossed my pen onto the desk and drained the ouzo glass. Leaning over to the corner of my desk, I moved black onyx pieces on the antique chessboard until I was poised to capture the white marble king. I had him. Check.

* * *

**Dimitri's POV**

"What took you so long, Comrade?" Roza asked as I came down the stairs. She gave me a sly look. "You weren't thinking of chickening out on me, were you?"

"Of course not, Roza. I apologize for my tardiness."

"Hmm."

I ignored Roza to greet her pseudo mother. "Good afternoon, Bridget. It's nice to see you again."

She smiled delightedly. "Hello, Dimitri. I understand you've agreed to learn to ride?"

"I have."

"Oh, I'm so glad. With the way you move your body, you'll be a natural."

Roza snickered. "He's afraid of horses." I felt myself blush and I glared at Roza.

"Don't be mean, Rosa," Bridget chided. Molly giggled hearing her grandmother reprimand her mother. Bridget joined her arm with mine as we walked out of the house in the direction of the stables. "Ignore her, Dimitri. Rosa wasn't keen on the idea of riding when I taught her either. We'll get you up on Samson. Don't let his name fool you. He's a large sturdy horse, but he's well behaved and he doesn't spook easily. He'll be a good mount for you to learn on."

"I'm sure he is," I said uneasily. "Wait one moment, will you, Bridget?" She nodded. I gently released her hand from its hold on my arm, as we stopped and waited until Roza and Molly had joined us. As they passed me, I took up position behind them and we walked as one unit to the stables.

"You take your job seriously, don't you, Dimitri?" Bridget asked quietly. "It didn't occur to me that by taking your arm and leading you away from Rosa, we were leaving Maili and her vulnerable."

"I do … and it's okay, Bridget. You didn't know."

When we reached the stables, Roza and Bridget led four horses from their stalls and Roza began to saddle them. Bridget called me over to a large black horse that stood taller than two others and which dwarfed Molly's pony. She was standing in front of the smaller animal feeding it carrots, which Samson was eyeing covetously. Bridget calmly stroked the larger horse's neck, but still he snickered and shied away from me as I approached. She shushed him and called me nearer.

"Slowly hold your hand out and let him smell you," she instructed quietly. Samson leaned forward, sniffed, and snorted before backing up a step, but Bridget brought him forward. "Let him smell you again." I did as she instructed and she passed me a carrot. "Offer him the food." Samson eyed me warily, but he'd smelled the carrot and he wanted the treat more than he wanted me away from him. He ate the carrot and butted his head against my chest looking for another one. Bridget handed it to me and Samson took it greedily. Bridget laughed and I smiled widely.

"Okay, reach out and rub him like I am," she coached, and I copied her actions, stroking the horse's face between his muzzle and his eyes. "Good. Now, step to the side of Samson's head and stroke his neck. You can add a bit of gentle scratching. Mind your feet under his hooves," she cautioned. "He weighs 1200 pounds." Samson turned his head and peered at me from one dark eye as I scraped my blunt fingernails along his neck. He whinnied softly and sidled closer to me. "Yes, you like that, don't you, boy?" Bridget crooned in a gentle voice.

Bridget coached me in how to move around Samson's body and not spook him, all the time encouraging me to stroke his coat and croon to him quietly. She saddled him and added a halter with a lead rope to the bridle and reins. "How tall are you, Dimitri?" I saw Roza look up, interested in the answer.

"Six foot, seven inches in bare feet." She looked at my boot heels and adjusted the stirrups accordingly.

"Normally, I would begin by giving you a number of lessons in horse care and grooming and how to use and care for the tack, but considering the circumstances and our girls'," (she inclined her head toward Roza and Molly) "insistence on riding, we'll have to forgo that for the moment."

She told me to stand in front of Samson and hold his halter to keep him from wandering off while she went to help Molly mount her pony. He nudged my back with his muzzle and snorted, before arching his head over my shoulder to watch the stable proceedings. While, Bridget had been coaching me, Roza had saddled the other three horses and she led two of them out of the stable.

"Okay, you're all set, Maili. Off you go."

"Thanks, Grandma. Have a good lesson, Dimtree," my daughter said.

"Dimitri, lead Samson outside." Bridget made a clicking noise with her tongue and Samson followed us happily, as we walked out into the sunshine. "The most important word you'll learn today is whoa. Remember it, Dimitri. Samson knows what it means."

"Stop?" I said.

"Exactly." She smiled. "Maili and I will be in the paddock next to the corral," she told me pointing to a large, fenced pasture set up with half a dozen low fences at different intervals making a course to follow. "I'm going to teach Maili to jump today, so Rosa will continue your lesson." Roza grinned evilly and Bridget rolled her eyes as she handed me leather riding gloves and a helmet.

"Ignore her, Dimitri. Rosa is an excellent rider and a more than capable teacher. Just do as she says and she'll have you walking confidently before the lesson is over." Bridget mounted a large sorrel horse and she and Molly rode into the next paddock through a gate in the corral.

Roza approached me. "You'll learn to ride on Samson. He's a gelding Tennessee walking horse and he stands seventeen hands at the withers. Do you remember where Bridget said the withers are?"

"Yes, here." I placed my hand on Samson's shoulders.

"Good, okay, the first thing we're going to do is get you into the saddle …"

A half later, Roza had instructed me in how to mount and dismount the horse and adjust my stirrups. She showed me how to hold the reins and she corrected my seat, telling me to relax my shoulders and hips whilst sitting in the saddle tall and straight. _"If you don't you won't ever ride well and you'll only end up with a sore back."_ Once I could mount and dismount to her satisfaction, she mounted her own horse and picked up Samson's lead rope.

"We're going to the training corral." Roza pointed to a large round pen near the stable that was still within easy viewing distance of the paddock where Bridget was instructing Molly. "Don't use your legs to add pressure or pull on the reins. Just let me lead you." I did as she instructed and the horses walked at an easy pace. Roza turned in the saddle to watch me. "Don't hold yourself so stiffly. Let your body move as one with the horse. Good," she said when I did as she instructed. She grinned. "Bridget's right … you are a natural."

After an hour in the training corral, Roza said I'd learned enough to attempt a walk through the horse paddock if I wanted. I could see her looking longingly at the wide-open space, and although my muscles ached from the unfamiliar exercise, I agreed to ride out with her.

"I'm sorry you can't ride like you want to," I said after we'd walked for a while in companionable silence. We reined in near a fence to admire the lush green range in front of us. Her eyes took on a gleam and her lips curved into a suspiciously angelic smile. Shit! I knew that gleam and that smile. She was planning something I wouldn't approve of. "Roza," I said sternly, "whatever you're thinking of doing, I forbid it." Her lips parted and she stared at me with narrowed eyes. I saw her resolve crystallize as her posture changed. Fuck! Forbidding her had been a major tactical error.

"Oh! You do, do you … you forbid it?"

"Roza."

She reached over and grabbed the coiled lead rope from its hook over the horn on my saddle and before I knew what she was doing, she'd wrapped the rope around a fence railing. "Stay here, Samson." She looked at me challengingly. "Don't tell me what to do." Roza reined her horse away from me and nudged the mare into a run, moving from a canter to a gallop quickly as they raced along the paddock.

"Roza!" I yelled. "Roza, come back here!" Samson stepped uneasily as he reacted to my anger, but he stayed steady and didn't attempt to escape from his tether to the fence. All I could do was watch my charge as she ran away from me. My lips thinned and my fists clenched on my thighs as I considered her foolish disobedience. _She knew_ I wasn't able to follow her on horseback and despite my own remarkable running speed, _I knew_ I'd never catch up to a galloping horse. All I could do was watch her and the surrounding area looking for danger.

In spite of my anger, I thought Roza was impressive on horseback. I watched as she reached the end of the paddock, reining her horse into wide turn to gallop back toward me. She jumped her horse over a fallen tree, then the water trough, and a bale of hay in quick succession. _She was magnificent. _I dismounted and removed my helmet, ready for when she reined to a stop beside me. Rushing toward her, I clasped her around the waist and pulled her off Orchid. I didn't care whether it was wise or dangerous; I only knew that I wanted her off the horse so she couldn't escape me again.

* * *

**Rosa's POV**

"What are you doing?!" I screeched, as Dimitri pulled me out of the saddle. I kicked my feet free of the stirrups as he tugged me insistently toward him. Orchid snorted nervously, and then bent her head to graze as though nothing had happened. I angrily unbuckled my helmet and dropped it on the grass.

"What am _I_ doing?!" He clasped my shoulders and shook me. "What are _you_ doing? Are you crazy, Roza? There's a dangerous lunatic after you and you go racing off on your own. How do you know there isn't somebody out there hiding in the forest just biding their time?" He shook me again and I wrenched out of his arms. Where does he get off thinking he can manhandle me?

"I'm fine, Comrade! You could see me the entire time. And what do you mean by a lunatic? He's a letter stalker. Don't you think you're overreacting just a bit?" I said scornfully.

"No I don't," he said coldly, "and neither does your publisher or I wouldn't be here. Letter stalkers can turn into kidnappers, rapists, and murderers in the blink of an eye. He's unstable, Roza. Sane people don't write intimidating letters threatening to come for you. You live on a remote ranch with virtually no security and only a sixty-year-old ranch hand to act as a deterrent. What do you think will happen if this person finds out where you live? What if he tries to take you … or Molly? You at least can defend yourself in a fight, but what happens if he has a weapon? What if there is more than one assailant? What if he targets Molly to use her as bait?"

I gasped, terrified for my daughter's safety and tears filled my eyes as I realized the truth of his words. My bottom lip quivered as Maili's did when she was in trouble. His face softened and he crooned as he gathered me into his arms and I burrowed against him, sobbing into his chest. _He smelled so good._ I felt his large hand stroke over my hair.

"You need to trust that I know what I'm doing," Dimitri chided me gently. "I'll protect you while you do the things you love, but you need to help me help you. Come now, milaya, stop crying," he urged.

I sniffled and lifted my head to wipe at my eyes and cheeks. "I'm sorry, Dimitri. I just didn't think. He … he wouldn't really use Maili as bait, would he?" I asked anxiously. He hesitated in answering me.

"It _has_ happened before, Roza, but I _will_ protect Molly for you. We just need to take precautions. Listen, I have some work friends arriving tomorrow. They're staying at _The Lodge_ for a week's vacation, but I can ask them to help if you like."

"I don't want to spoil their vacation," I sniffled.

He chuckled. "You won't be. They're workaholics."

"Okay," I mumbled, pulling away from Dimitri reluctantly. I looked up at him. "I won't do anything like that again, Dimitri … I promise."

"I know you won't." He stroked some stray hair away from my face with the back of his hand. His touch almost made me shiver.

"You'd better learn to ride in a hurry, Dimitri." He smiled and promised to practice faithfully.

Before I knew what I was doing, I stretched up on my toes to kiss his cheek. The feel of his soft skin with just a hint of beard growth scratching against my lips made me gasp. I pulled back and my mouth tingled. He was looking at my lips and I touched my fingers to them hoping to prolong the sensation. I sagged in disappointment. It was fading.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly.

I made another impulsive decision. "Nothing. Everything is very, very right." I pulled him toward me and pressed my lips fully against his mouth.

…

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please leave a review ... praise-worthy or critical, it doesn't matter. I love praise for my work, but I always welcome constructive feedback too. If you don't like how I'm writing something, please let me know because I can't learn or change my style if my readers don't let me know what I'm doing wrong.

Who do you think Gusarov's mole is at Royal court? Was Dimitri too hard on Roza for taking off on her horse?

Next chapter: Lissa and Christian arrive in Whitefish and meet Rose again. Nicholas and Bridget come to dinner and Janine makes an appearance with Abe in tow. I wonder how that dinner party will turn out. Gusarov makes his second move and Rosa's life begins to unravel thanks to some help from her mother and Lissa.

Other notes …

I don't speak Italian, Greek, or Russian so I used Google Translate. Forgive me if the translations are not exactly accurate.

Greek translations: Geia = Hello / pórni̱ aímatos = blood whore.

I also don't know how to ride, but I've often thought I might like to learn. I _have_ been on a horse twice before and been led in a slow walk, but I remember being scared shitless because I was so high up. Lol. If my reviewer who is also horse rider wants to offer me any corrections or tips, please feel free to do so. I will always welcome expert advice where needed.


	10. Chapter 10 - A Date Friends and Vampires

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Richelle Mead is the author and owner of the Vampire Academy series. The original characters and plot are the property of the fanfiction author. The fanfiction author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

…

AN: Thank you as always to my readers who left a review for chapter 9. A special thanks to MelissaDB'sLover who has forgotten her FFN password, so she leaves me great guest reviews. I wish I could respond personally. Also thanks to reviewers: guest peggy, Dimitri's Smexi Shewolf, southernrebel96, NatalieHS, Jessica c.b., yunacarman, Comrade'sRoza and Booklover2468 for leaving awesome and regular reviews.

This chapter was supposed to include a dinner party in which Janine and Abe turned up, but as often happens when writing fiction, the chapter took on a life of its own, and a more important event took precedence.

There's a bit of lemon peel in this chapter, but nothing too over the top (I hope) and no actual sex yet since this story has a T rating, however, there will eventually be sex for Romitri – it just won't be explicit. I'm going to try to keep love scenes sexy but tasteful. If you think this love scene overextended the T rating let me know and I'll post a different warning or edit the scene down, but I've read more detailed sex scenes in a Mills and Boon novel. If you want to skip their first love scene, then start reading from the first horizontal scene break line; however, there is some dialogue you might want to read. Otherwise, enjoy some Romitri loving.

…

**Chapter 10 – A Date, Friends and Vampires**

**Rosa's POV**

When my mouth touched Dimitri's, the world stopped spinning for a moment, and then it span at a crazy speed making me dizzy. His lips were as soft as rose petals as they moved against mine. I'd never kissed someone with such a soft and luscious mouth. He nibbled at my bottom lip, pulling on it gently with his teeth and I heard a moan – I think it might have been me – as his tongue slipped into my mouth.

The glorious sensation of Dimitri's tongue stroking tentatively against my own nearly made me faint from pleasure. My hands clenched against his shirt, my fingers twisting and clawing at the fabric, and my toes curled inside my boots. I'd always thought the expression _toe-curling kiss _was just a Hollywood catchphrase … _until_ I kissed Dimitri Belikov. He pulled back and I wanted to cry from the disappointment. _No! Come back._ My eyes were heavy lidded with excitement and his were almost black with desire.

"What are we doing?" he breathed in a wondrous tone. "I'm your guardian."

"I thought that was obvious," I replied huskily, "and I don't care." I tugged at this shirt to pull him back, but he resisted my attempts easily. I wasn't surprised – he weighed twice what I did and he was a foot taller – but insurmountable odds had never defeated me before. I'd survived the unsurvivable … I wasn't about to let Dimitri's professional ethics beat me now.

"Roza, this is not a good idea," he persisted. I pressed my mouth against his and used his shoulders to hoist myself against his body. His arms embraced me loosely, almost involuntarily, and I took advantage of the opportunity to wrap my legs around his waist.

"It doesn't matter," I cajoled, nibbling on his earlobe. I sighed and raked my fingers through his hair. It felt so silky – soft like a spun web. "I've wanted to do this all week." He groaned and sought out my mouth with his own, kissing me more deeply as he pulled me tighter to his body. He turned and walked a few steps, my voice hitching as I felt him rub gently against my center. "Yes," I hissed as he backed me against the fence and his lips brushed butterfly kisses along my neck.

"Oh, Roza," Dimitri groaned and I smiled in triumph as his mouth returned to mine and we lost ourselves to the passion.

The fingers of his one hand stroked along my back while his other slid downward to my butt. His every touch caused ripples of pleasure and I wondered what it might feel like if he touched my naked skin. The thought made me shiver. His hand on my butt lingered and fondled in circular motions and then his long fingers squeezed gently. I reacted by gasping and rubbing myself against him and he groaned my name into my mouth.

"You are so beautiful," I murmured as I looked into his deep brown-black eyes. They were pools of chocolate I could drown in happily. I wanted to touch him and my hands slid over his shoulders to fumble uselessly with the tiny buttons on his shirt.

"You're the one who's beautiful," he returned in a voice low and deep with passion. "So beautiful – it hurts me to look at you – so beautiful," he repeated, and I melted.

Abandoning the buttons, I pressed my mouth to his neck and nudged aside the shirt collar to nuzzle into the crook of his shoulder. Using my lips, my teeth and my tongue, I kissed, nibbled and stroked the exposed skin until I felt him shudder in my arms. Pushing me harder into the fence, he growled low and ground against me.

His reaction thrilled me and I made yet another impulsive decision. I'd never done it before, but I'd read about how to do it in Cosmo and I _wanted, needed_ to mark him as my own. Laying my mouth against the smooth skin just above his collarbone, I parted my lips and applied pressure, sucking his flesh gently into my mouth.

"Roza, what are you doing?" Dimitri groaned, yet he helped me by laying his head to the side, giving me greater access. I released his flesh with a gentle pop and held his face to kiss him.

Smiling into his mouth, I said sassily, "Giving you a hickey." He laughed sexily and his hand cupped my head to keep our mouths connected. He wanted to kiss … well, I was happy to oblige him. Throwing my arms around his neck, I rubbed my aching breasts against his hard chest. The delicious abrasion made them tingle and I moaned, wanting more.

"More. Touch them," I heard myself begging.

"Yes, anything you want," he rasped passionately.

His hands slid down my back to slip beneath my sweater. His callused fingertips trailed across my skin, raising my awareness to new, untold levels of delight. One hand traced my spine to the back of my bra and his other stoked across my stomach. He paused to circle my navel and stroke over the piercing I had there. It tickled and I jerked. He laughed softly and trailed upward to cup a full, aching mound clad in silk and lace. He squeezed gently and his thumb teased making my breath hitch in my throat. I writhed, pushing into his hand insistently, until, eventually, his fingers fumbling for a non-existent fastening penetrated the thrall that held me captive.

"It's a front closing bra," I managed to tell him.

His seeking hand travelled to my chest. "Even better," he whispered into my mouth.

This time, his long nimble fingers unerringly found the clasp and he released it easily. My breasts fell into his waiting hands with relief and I felt them swell as they reacted to his tender ministrations. I panted and writhed as his attentions caused jolts of electricity to ratchet through my body, coalescing in one special spot. I could barely describe the feeling, but it was sheer delight.

"Oh God, Oh God … the way you make me feel, Dimitri," I panted incoherently.

"Hold onto the top of the fence," Dimitri instructed huskily. I nodded and stretched my arms along the railing to clutch at the rough timber. My legs still gripped his waist tightly and he stepped back stretching out my body. "Don't let go of my waist," he whispered, and I felt his hands push my sweater up exposing my body to the cooling air under the waning afternoon sunshine.

I watched him with heavy lidded eyes as he leaned forward, his hands supporting my spine. His silky hair swung forward, caressing my sensitive skin as his mouth explored my body. I cried out as his tongue laved and suckled my bellybutton, sending sharp tingles of pleasure shooting directly to my special spot. I gasped and writhed as his mouth inflamed my body to heights I'd never before experienced.

"Don't move," he ordered. "If you move, I'll stop."

I panted and promised him _anything_ as long as he kept going. He grinned and returned his mouth to my skin, kissing his way to my aching, heaving breasts where he lingered and played for a long, long … long, long … long time. At that particular moment, I would have done anything he wanted. He was handsome and sexy and he wanted only me. It would be so easy to let myself love him …

The cessation of his touch was a rude awakening and I wanted to cry when his lips left me. _Why had he stopped?_ "Don't stop," I begged him. The screeches of an eagle flying overhead pierced my senses and I understood what had reawakened Dimitri's awareness of our surroundings. He'd stopped and gathered me against him, holding me tightly as he crooned nonsense in my ear. I felt like sobbing. Wait, I _was_ sobbing. "Why'd you stop? It … it was so wonderful. Why'd you stop?"

"Shssh, Roza, shssh," he murmured. He sighed and pressed kisses over my face. "Roza, sweetheart, we're in the middle of the paddock. Anyone could see us."

I shook my head as I clutched him. "I don't care!"

"I do," he said softly, but firmly. His expression was cool and unrelenting.

My mouth trembled. "Don't you want me anymore?"

His face softened. "Oh, Roza, I want you so much, I can't describe it to you, but I have to protect you."

"I don't need protecting from this, Dimitri," I said urgently. I smiled seductively and trailed my finger over the love-bite I'd made on his collarbone.

He pushed me gently off him and caged my body against the fence being careful not to touch me. "Yes, you do, Roza. There are things about me you don't know. I won't take this further until you know everything."

I looked at him quizzically. What could be so bad that he thought I would reject him? I knew he'd been a soldier; that he'd likely killed before. I wouldn't hold that against him – not ever.

"Then tell me," I pressed. "Nothing you can tell me about yourself will change my feelings."

A fleeting expression I couldn't define flashed across his face and I thought for a moment that he might confess whatever sin he felt, he needed to protect me from. Mere moments later his neutral mask replaced it and he was once again my cool, controlled bodyguard. His hands dropped from the fence and he stepped away to pick up Samson's reins, his back toward me.

"Fix your clothes, Roza. It's time to return to the house."

I was shocked and hurt at how easily he'd dismissed the feelings we had for each other – and they were mutual, of that, I was certain. I'd dated enough to know when a man wanted me, and no man made love to a woman the way Dimitri had to me if he didn't want her more than he needed air to breathe.

"No! Let's talk about this," I pleaded with him, my hand taking hold of his forearm. He shook me off gently.

"Not now, Roza. Please …" he trailed off, his brown eyes begging. "I _will_ tell you, but not now. Soon. Let's just get to know each other some more. You need this time to get to know me … to be sure of your feelings."

I _was_ sure of my feelings and I didn't appreciate him dismissing me as if I were an inexperienced teenager. I considered arguing with him, but he looked so earnest, I felt compelled to heed him. I huffed and crossed my arms.

"Alright, Comrade, I won't push for an explanation." He breathed easier. Then I did what I often did so well. I said something outrageous.

"So does this mean you're going to date me?" I asked boldly as I slipped my hands beneath my sweater to fasten my bra. It felt tight and uncomfortable over my still swollen and sensitive breasts.

He blinked. "I-what?"

I stepped around him to pick up Orchid's reins and I mounted her before I answered. "You said we should get to know each other further?" He nodded. "Well, what better way to get to know each other than by dating. There's a street festival in town on Saturday night with places to eat and dancing," I hinted. I waited expectantly, but he only stared at me. I rolled my eyes. It looked like I'd have to do the asking.

"Dimitri, would you like to go to the festival on Saturday night … with me … as my date?"

His lips parted – whether shocked at my boldness or appreciative of my courage, I couldn't define from his expression – but he was definitely intrigued by the idea of dating me. He watched me thoughtfully and then he seemed to come to a decision.

"My friends are arriving tomorrow. You said you wanted to meet them."

I shrugged. "I can meet them on Sunday … or they can go to the festival too and I can meet them there … with you … as your date." I reiterated the whole 'date' concept so he'd get the message clearly. He remained silent while he mounted Samson and turned him around. "Well?" I asked impatiently as he urged Samson to walk toward the gate in the paddock. I followed and came alongside him. He looked at me, his expression once again neutral. _I bet he'd make a great poker player._

"Yes," he said at last.

Yes? I made a face of confusion. What was he saying yes to: an intimate date for two, or a group outing with his friends? "Um, yes to what, exactly?"

"Yes, I'd like to go with you to the festival … as your date. I can introduce you to my friends if they want to go, but they aren't invited to join us." I grinned and he grinned back. "Pick me up a seven," he said, and I giggled.

* * *

**Dimitri's POV**

The next day, Roza and I spoke with Gina about guarding Molly while we were at the festival. I'd convinced Roza that she needed to tell her housekeeper about the stalker and we spoke with her after breakfast while Molly watched Saturday morning cartoons in the den.

"Gina, Roza and I are going to the festival this evening in Whitefish," I began. She looked up from where she was loading the dishwasher and smiled at both of us.

"Yes, and there's something you need to know about Dimitri … um, why Dimitri is really here before we go," Roza added. Gina's eyebrow quirked and she joined us at the table where we were both sitting.

"He's not here to help you with your book, is he?" she said, glancing at me. My eyes said _follow my cues _and I hoped she understood the message.

Roza swallowed and shook her head. "Um, he's really here because, um, you see … I'm being stalked by a crazy letter writer …" Roza explained what had been happening and Gina did an excellent job of faking ignorance, feigning shock and then anger that Roza hadn't confided in her.

"What can I do to help?" Gina asked, looking at me for guidance.

"Just stay alert and report any unusual activity. Most especially, don't leave Molly unattended while she's outside the house."

"I don't suppose you can shoot, can you?" Roza asked Gina, and we both stared at her. "What?" Roza asked. "Why is my question so surprising? I figured Gina might have been a cop or something before she worked for me."

Gina's eyes widened. "What makes you think that?"

Roza shrugged. "When you guys first met, I got the definite feeling you didn't like each other, but then you seemed to come to some type of understanding." Gina and I exchanged glances. "Well, I'm right, aren't I? You guys know each other?" Roza persisted.

I answered. "Not personally, no, but we know _of _each other. You're right, but not about her being a police officer. Gina used to be a soldier – a very good one – but she retired." I hated lying, but it was necessary. The irony – considering I'd punched Zmey for the same reason – wasn't lost on me. Regardless, keeping all of the lies close to the truth would make them easier to remember, and to justify (I hoped) when … if, we told Roza everything. I only prayed she would understand when the time came.

Gina continued the explanation. "Yes, I retired about four years ago. I was getting too old to go out into the field and I was injured a few times. After the last time, I was posted to a desk job. I hated it, so when I'd done my thirty years, I retired and I ended up in Whitefish.

Roza looked impressed with Gina. "Thirty years as a soldier, huh. What made you want to become my housekeeper?" she asked curiously.

Gina smiled. "I spent more than half my life keeping my quarters and my uniforms perfect. It wasn't difficult to parlay that into civilian housekeeping … and I knew how to cook, so that requirement was also taken care of."

"You certainly do, Gina. Your spaghetti sauce is the best I've ever eaten," Roza complimented. Gina glowed with pleasure. "Do you have any kids, Gina?" Her face fell and she stood up from the table, turning her back on us both. Roza seemed to realize that she'd hit a nerve. "I'm sorry, you don't need to answer that," she said hurriedly. "It's none of my business."

Gina turned around, her eyes sad. "It's okay, Rosa. I _had_ a son. He died."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Roza said. She left the table to comfort Gina, hugging the older woman. "That must have been hard for you. Was he in the Army too?"

She nodded. "Yes. He was killed in action," she said quietly, looking at me so that I would understand what she _wasn't_ saying. Her son had been a guardian and he'd died on the job or else he'd been turned strigoi.

Either way, she'd lost him.

* * *

We spent the morning in the training corral while Roza gave me another riding lesson and Molly rode her pony, Bobbin. Gina stood guard, subbing for me, while Roza went over what I'd learned the previous afternoon, and I practiced for a while before we moved onto trotting. It wasn't the most comfortable movement I'd ever experienced, but Roza said it was necessary, since the trot was the working gait for a horse.

"Despite what you might think, horses are a lot like humans," she said seriously. "They can't run flat out for endless miles without resting. Every few miles of galloping you need to slow to a walk or a trot so your mount has time to recover," she coached. "Ideally, you should let it drink as soon as possible."

Following an excruciating hour for both me and Samson as I bounced on him in the saddle, I begged for a halt to the lesson. "Roza, if you expect me to take you dancing tonight, I need to be able to move my body." My ass, thighs and back were killing me.

She smirked at me. "Calling it quits on me, are you, Comrade?" I hated to admit it, but I was. The horse had beaten me … at least for today. I reluctantly nodded. "I'm going to remind you of this the next time you're training me and I want to call a halt," she promised.

"Agreed," I promised eagerly. "No questions asked."

She shook her head and smiled. "Go ahead."

"Whoa, Samson." He immediately halted and I slid off his back with relief, my muscles screaming. "I'm sorry about all that, old boy." Samson snickered and butted my chest accepting my apology. "C'mon, let's get you unsaddled and I'll give you an apple while I rub you down." I led Samson slowly toward the stable, horrified to find myself walking bandy. I heard laughter behind me, but I refused to acknowledge it, holding my head high, if not my body.

* * *

Mid afternoon, while I soaked away my aches in a hot bath, my cell phone rang. Gina had laughed when I'd stumbled into the house around lunchtime. _'It's a different type of exercise,' she'd said knowingly. _She could also ride, but had declined to do so while she subbed for me on guarding. _'Riding really tests preconceived ideas about your own fitness level,' she'd added. _It certainly did, I decided as I slowly climbed the stairs – every step an experience in renewed agony.

Lazily picking up the ringing phone from the occasional table beside the freestanding, six-foot soaker tub, I answered without checking the caller Id.

"Hello," I mumbled.

"Dimitri? Is that you?" I glanced down at my submerged body, but I just couldn't find the energy to be concerned that I was naked in the tub while conversing with the Queen.

"Yes, Your Majesty, it's me."

Silence. "Are … are you okay? You sound … odd."

"Yes, I'm fine, Lissa."

"Hmm," she intoned doubtfully before moving on to the real purpose of her call. "We're here … in Whitefish. The cabin at _The Lodge _is perfect and it's so beautiful in this part of Montana. The scenery as we flew over was magnificent. I can't wait to see Rose," she chatted excitedly.

"About that …"

"What?" Lissa gasped. "There _is_ something wrong, isn't there? I knew you didn't sound quite yourself when you answered. What's happened –"

"Lissa!" She quieted. "Everything is fine. I told Roza that some colleagues of mine were stopping in Whitefish for a week on vacation. She's looking forward to meeting you all."

I heard her sigh with relief. "Oh, good. Can we visit this evening?"

"Tomorrow," I said. "You're all invited for dinner, but tonight, Roza and I are going to the street festival in town. If you'd like to meet us there, I'll introduce you."

I heard Lissa sniffle. "I still can't get my head around having to be introduced to my best friend. Are you sure she won't remember me?" I sighed under my breath. I knew this would happen. Lissa hoped that Rose would lay eyes on her and all her memories would come flooding back. It wasn't going to happen.

"Yes, Lissa, I'm sure. She doesn't remember you." Silence. I decided to change the subject. "Which guardians did you bring with you?"

"Grant and Serena," the Queen responded sullenly. Serena was Lissa's guardian and Grant was assigned to Christian. Like Roza and I had been, they were together, except they were out in the open. I imagine our own guarding arrangement would have been similar had Roza not been kidnapped.

"Good, they're a couple, so they'll blend in easily," I said. "Remind them to dress as civilians and to conceal their weapons. I've seen no evidence of strigoi activity around Whitefish, but that doesn't mean there won't be any …"

"I'll tell them," Lissa agreed quietly. I hated that she was hurting, but it was necessary. I'd been saying or thinking that a lot lately. Necessary. I was beginning to resent that word.

"Roza and I are leaving for the festival at seven," I told Lissa, "so if you want to go, we can meet you for drinks at nine. We're going to the dance after that."

Lissa perked up immediately. "There's a dance? Oh, I love dancing." Her voice became muffled as she covered the phone to speak with Lord Ozera. "Christian, will you take me dancing tonight? There's a street festival in town. Dimitri and Rose will meet us there." I heard his voice in the background agree readily.

"Dimitri, we'll meet you at the dance at nine. Oh, I can't wait." I smiled at how quickly the Queen's mood could change from sad and sullen to happy and cheerful.

"Hmm, Lissa, this is kind of a date for Roza and me," I told her.

"Ooh," she gasped. "You asked her out?"

I coughed and admitted, "She asked me."

She giggled. "Upstaged by a determined woman, were you, Dimitri? Rose always did have a thing for you, even when she tried to hide it. She may not remember you, but she remembers how she felt around you."

"She does," I agreed.

"I'll see you tonight. Bye."

We hung up and I dropped the phone onto the table. Using my big toe, I pushed the lever on the hot tap and added more water to the tub. "Ah," I groaned as healing heat seeped into my tired muscles.

It was blissful.

* * *

**Rosa's POV**

Following lunch, I put Maili down for a nap while Dimitri rested (I suspected he was soaking in the tub) and I decided to relax for a while. I intended on having a good time tonight and that included dancing for hours … held in Dimitri's arms. The anticipation while I waited for tonight was killing me. I showered and washed my hair, then dried it quickly, and applied a layer of very expensive moisturizer all over my face, neck and body.

Pulling the drapes closed on the sun, I set my phone alarm and climbed into bed under the covers. Reaching across to the bedside table, I picked up the book I was reading. Most people would be surprised by what I liked to read, especially Dimitri. My tastes were eclectic and my favorite authors were very different, ranging from Patricia Cornwell to J K Rowling, Dan Brown and Jane Austin; though I supposed the first three could all be counted as 'mystery' storytellers. My current choice was non-fiction – a memoir written by Hillary Rodham Clinton. I opened the heavy tome to my bookmark, slipped on my glasses and began to read until I felt tired …

I was dreaming.

I was surrounded by a group of people who laughed, teased, and gently nudged me when I said something funny. I couldn't hear what they were saying and I couldn't really see their faces, but I knew they were my friends.

A blond girl cuddled securely in the arms of a young man with short dark hair. He swayed her slowly within the security of his arms as she chatted away to me and another man – older than the rest of us, but pale like them and tall with artlessly arranged short brown hair. He urged me toward him with an outstretched hand.

I shook my head, my attention caught by another man in the room. Sunlight shone through a stained-glass window, shrouding him with mottled colors of red and yellow. He stood out and it wasn't only the angelic light that made him different. He towered over every other person in the room … a library I think it was, and he looked at me like _I_ was the only woman in the world for him. I felt drawn to him, almost tethered to him by some invisible thread. Stretching out a long arm clad in dark brown leather, he beckoned and spoke, but I couldn't hear him.

The other man was still urging me toward him. I couldn't see his face, but I knew he was handsome and he cared about me – loved me, even – but I didn't want him. I didn't feel the same way about him that he felt about me. He wasn't _the one_ and I ignored his inviting hand, shaking my head firmly. I pointed to the other man who held my heart.

'_It's him. It'll always be him,' I told the faceless man softly. He smiled sadly and nodded, dropping his arm._

I ran to the other man who welcomed me into his outstretched arms. He picked me up and spun me around, our hair flying and catching cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. I loved his long hair. It shone dark brown and I reached out and captured some, discarding the sticky silk web he'd caught in it. I brought his hair to my face so that I could inhale his scent, drowning my senses as his arms surrounded me. His hair felt like the softest silk and he smelled divine – a woodsy scent mixed with a touch of spice and citrus. He leaned down and his soft lips – soft like rose petals – brushed against mine.

'_I love you,' he said. __'You are so very beautiful. It hurts me to look at you.'_

'_I love you, too,' I replied. 'Always and forever.'_

The dream began to fade ...

"Dimitri," I murmured.

When I woke up, a sense of déjà vu disturbed me as I recalled my dream. I'd had the dream before, I was sure of it, but last time I didn't know that the tall man in my dream was Dimitri, and it _was_ Dimitri, of that I was also certain.

Lying against the pillows of my king-sized bed with its upholstered headboard, I tried to remember the last time I'd had the exact same dream, yet the precise date eluded me. It could have been yesterday, a week ago, last month or last year. For all I knew, I could have dreamed it years ago. I sat up. Years ago. I remembered having some strange dreams while I was fighting off the coma, but I could never recall the details.

Had I dreamed it then?

Was my dream prophetic … or did I know Dimitri from before? Moreover, if I did know him, why wouldn't Dimitri tell me? If he knew who I was, wouldn't he say something? When we'd met a week ago, he hadn't approached me like an old friend would. Instead, he'd greeted me as if we were two people meeting for the first time. Everything about that meeting suggested we were strangers … except for the way he'd said my name.

Roza.

He'd breathed my name as if he'd spoken it many times, but that didn't make any sense either. He was from New York and he'd been in the Army, possibly overseas when I'd been a girl of seventeen, found nearly dead in the trunk of a burning car in Montana. How could we have met before? _Where_ could we have met before?

My head began to hurt and I reached up to rub at my temples. I hadn't yet told Dimitri about my amnesia … or the seizures – I hadn't had one in more than two years, in any case – but the headaches still struck me on a fairly regular basis. They weren't as debilitating as they once were, but they still pained me like it did now as I felt the throb building.

Climbing out of bed, I went into the bathroom and opened the mirrored medicine case to find my pain medication. Shaking out two tablets, I swallowed them with some water before shuffling back to bed to sleep some more. I really wanted to take a bath, but that would be a bad idea, a very bad idea. I'd done it only once before after taking my meds and I'd fallen asleep in the hot water. Bridget had found me before I'd slipped beneath the surface and woken me, but it had really scared me how strong they were and how drowsy they made me feel. Slipping between the sheets, I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep until my alarm rang at 5 o'clock.

When I woke again, my headache was gone, yet a persistent malaise dragged at me and that sense of déjà vu hadn't left me either. I figured it was now safe to have a bath and I hoped it would perk me up a little. Getting out of bed, I stretched for a few minutes before walking into my decadent bathroom of Ming green marble tile with its giant shower stall, white double sink vanity and enormous freestanding soaker tub. It was one of several rooms I'd had remodeled before Maili and I had moved in months ago.

I added some lavender bath beads to the thundering water, inhaling the calming aroma as steam filled the room. I pulled my hair into a messy bun atop my head, and stepped into the tub, sighing as I sank beneath the healing water.

It was blissful.

* * *

**Dimitri's POV – First Date**

As I waited for Roza a little before seven, I found myself pacing the polished timber floor at the foot of the staircase. Molly sat on the couch with her coloring book and crayons and she watched me from time to time with a puzzled expression. She tossed her art supplies aside and climbed off the couch, skipping over to me.

"Are you nervous about your date with Mommy, Dimtree?" _Christ almighty, she was perceptive._ "Don't be. You look real nice." She giggled behind her hand and scrutinized my clothing.

Uncharacteristically, I'd vacillated over what to wear on our date tonight. Eventually, I'd settled on a pair of jeans and a blue chambray shirt. I'd added a thick leather belt, and instead of my duster, I wore another jacket I thought would be appropriate. It was also western style, but it was suit length, made of distressed brown leather without lapels and it had a stiff upright collar and four buttons down the front. It's three pockets left ample space for my wallet, credentials and car keys. A stake and my gun were sheathed on my back under the jacket.

"You look like a cowboy," Molly decided, smirking at me. "Dimtree, will you take me on a date one day?" My face softened and I crouched down in front of her.

"I would be honored to take you on a date one day, krasivaya devushka."

"Where will you take me?" she gasped excitedly.

"Hmm, I'm not sure." I didn't want to promise to take her somewhere that might not be possible – like an amusement park or the beach. "What types of things do you like to do around Whitefish?"

Her face scrunched thoughtfully. "Well, there's the Christmas fair. Hall'ween is soon and I _really like _to ride my pony." I grinned at her obvious hint. She reminded me of Roza yesterday when she'd lobbied me about the street festival. I'd been intrigued by the idea of dating her, but also curious to see how far she'd go to get me to take her. I'd made her work for it and she'd gone all the way.

"What do you do on Halloween?" I asked her. The celebration dedicated to the dead was only a week away. "Perhaps we can do something then."

"Mommy and me go trick or treating and there's a prize for the best costume." She began bopping around excitedly. "Will you take me to Hall'ween, Dimtree? Mommy is making my outfit. If you ask her, she'll make you one too."

"Have you thrown me over for another woman already, Comrade?" Roza's amused voice asked as she came down the stairs.

I stood and watched her descend. Like me, she was dressed in jeans (hers were tight and hugged her curves) teamed with a red and blue checked shirt. She'd buckled a western belt low on her waist and cowgirl boots covered her feet. She held a white cashmere jacket with a faux fur collar over her arm. My eyes were riveted. Her lustrous hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulders, each lock curled into loose ringlets; and her makeup was understated, yet expertly applied to highlight her best feature – her eyes. She'd had her ears pierced since I'd last known her and silver earrings dangled from her lobes.

She was stunning.

"Mommy!" Molly squealed as she ran to her mother. "You look pretty, Mommy." She jumped around like a Mexican jumping bean. "Mommy, Mommy, Dimtree's taking me on a date, too," she sang excitedly.

Roza smiled. "So I hear."

"You _have_ to make his costume, Mommy," Molly stated imperiously. "Prince Charming coz I'm Cind'rella."

Roza crouched down to hug our daughter. "We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay?" Molly nodded. "Be a good girl for Gina and go to bed when she tells you," Roza cautioned with a serious face. Gina had come into the room while we'd been talking.

"Okay, Mommy. Have a good time. Will you bring me a showbag?"

"Yes, if they have them."

"What's a showbag?" I asked Roza as I escorted her to my black Escalade.

"It's a bag of goodies we can buy at a concession stand. There are different types like candy or Barbie … or cowboys," she added, smirking at me.

When we arrived in Whitefish, Roza directed me to an open parking lot and we circled until we found a vacant space near the back. It was situated in a dark corner with no streetlight and its remote position made me nervous, but there were no other places to park. As we walked toward the town center, I kept a protective arm around Roza's waist and pulled her closely against my body.

The festival was in full swing as we approached it. Lights were strung along and across the street and country music played loudly from speakers mounted to lampposts. People gorged on cotton candy, corn-on-the-cob, hotdogs and burgers as they walked along the main street, stopping occasionally to buy goods or one of Molly's coveted showbags from one of the many stalls and concessions. Several fairground rides and attractions sparkled with blinking colored lights in the parking lot of the public library. Screams of terror and squeals of excitement warred with organ music for which was loudest.

"What would like to do first?" I asked loudly over the cacophony of noise. Roza was grinning like a little kid as she looked around, her eyes skipping from attraction to attraction without really settling on one particular interest.

"I want cotton candy," she said girlishly, pointing at a woman eating pink webs of spun sugar wrapped around a stick.

"Your wish is my command," I told her as I led her toward the snack food vendor. While Roza devoured her sugary treat, I nibbled on spiced, roasted nuts as we strolled along the midway.

"Do you want to try some?" she offered, holding the cotton candy aloft.

Just the thought of eating the sickly sweet snack made me feel physically ill and I was about to refuse, but when I looked into her eager face, I decided to do anything to make our first date a rousing success. I realized with a small pang that it was, in fact, our first date. We shared a daughter, but we'd never actually dated.

"Sure, I'll try it," I said. Roza tore off a chunk and held it up to my mouth.

"Open up," she said flirtatiously, her eyes bright.

I parted my lips to accept the treat. She pushed it over my lips and past my teeth with her fingers and I captured one as the candy dissolved on my tongue, sucking on her digit strongly as she retreated. She gasped and her eyes widened, and I saw desire ignite in her brown irises.

"You're sweeter than any candy," I whispered as I leaned down to brush her mouth with my own.

My tongue tip emerged to lick the remnants from her lips. She gasped and parted her lips, allowing me greater admittance and I felt her arms go around my neck as I deepened the kiss. When I pulled back reluctantly, mindful that we were on a public street, the remains of Roza's cotton candy was stuck in my hair. I touched the back of my head, my hand coming away pink and sticky. I made a face and Roza laughed as she discarded the remnants in a nearby trashcan. When she turned back, she looked at me quizzically as I plucked strings of spun sugar from my hair.

"What's wrong?" I asked worriedly, dropping my hands.

She shook her head and then shrugged. "Oh, nothing. Just déjà vu. C'mon, there are restrooms up ahead where we can wash our hands."

After trailing in and out of concession stands and marquees for an hour, we headed to a food tent for some dinner. While I waited in line, Roza searched for a table in the loud and crowded venue, and when I approached ten minutes later, Roza was speaking with an older couple. They all turned to look at me as I slid the heavily loaded tray onto the table.

"Dimitri," Rosa said, linking her arm with mine, "this is Maybelline and her husband _Kenny Rogers_." She glanced up at me through her eyelashes as she introduced the couple, emphasizing the man's name. It wasn't lost on me that he shared the same name as the country singer. It also didn't escape my notice that he resembled the aging entertainer, with his white hair and well-groomed beard.

My lips quirked in a tiny smile. "How do you do?" I said shaking their outstretched hands in turn. "It's a pleasure to meet you both," I added politely.

Maybelline Rogers batted her lashes at me as she looked me up and down like I was a prime cut of beef. "My my, sugar, well aren't you just a tasty dish of Russian caviar," she drawled with a Southern Belle twang. Roza giggled as I felt myself blushing as red as the chilli I'd ordered for dinner.

"Now, Maybelline, leave the boy alone," Kenny chided. "Ignore her, son. Maybelline just likes to tease."

"Comrade, Kenny owns _The Lodge_ on Whitefish Lake," Roza said, still smirking at my embarrassment.

I turned to the man. "I've heard it's the best hotel in Whitefish," I complimented. He beamed. "Some friends of mine are staying in one of your cabins for a week. They arrived earlier today."

"They'd be Ambrose and Roman, party of five, yes?" I nodded, then: five? Who was the fifth person? "Good, good. Well I hope they enjoy their stay. You tell them to let me know if they need anything. C'mon Maybelline, let's leave these folks to eat their dinner." Kenny tipped his Stetson at Roza and dragged away a still flirting Maybelline.

"I'm sorry about Maybelline," Roza said as I sat beside her on a hay bale. "But she was right. You are a tasty dish of Russian caviar." I grimaced and she leaned sideways to peck my mouth.

"Have you ever _eaten_ Russian caviar?" I asked as I handed her a napkin and plastic cutlery.

Her nose scrunched adorably. "Ew, God, no!" I laughed and placed her plate, piled high with a burger, fries and sour pickles on the table in front of her.

"I got you a light beer to drink. I hope that's okay?" She nodded and mumbled around a mouthful of fries. I didn't know where she put all of the food she ate. Perhaps she had four stomachs like the cattle she ran on her ranch. She swallowed and wiped her hands and mouth.

"Thanks for bringing me here tonight, Comrade. If I forget to tell you later, I had a really good time." She blushed and I smiled at her, nudging her shoulder with mine. She was so adorable and I fell a little more in love with her every moment we spent together.

"So did I," I told her.

"So, tell me more about living in New York," she said.

"Have you been there?" I asked her instead.

She nodded. "A few times. My publisher is there, but, of course, you know that," (I nodded) "but I love it. It's such an exciting city and so safe now compared to decades ago, or so I'm told."

"Yes, it is much safer. Ever since 9/11, security is much tighter and people are far more observant than they used to be. I used to go running in Central Park or sometimes along the Highline with Ivan."

"Ooh, yes, I loved the Highline. I was there one summer and people were sunbathing. I thought it was really great that the city turned a disused train track into a garden and recreation area rather than tearing it down."

"I thought so, too," I told her. I ate a few mouthfuls of delicious chilli and Doritos while Roza chowed down on her burger.

"Who's Ivan?" she asked me curiously a while later. She sipped her beer and waited patiently for my answer. Had I mentioned Ivan? I must have. I hadn't realized.

"Um, he was my best friend … he was killed a few years ago." She covered my hand and squeezed.

"I'm sorry. You sound like you really miss him."

I smiled a little sadly. "I do. We went to high school together and we … worked together as well. I wasn't with him when he died, but I can't help feeling that if I was, he'd still be alive today."

Roza looked around before she leaned closer and whispered, "He wasn't in Special Ops, like you?"

I shook my head. "Not really. He had some of the same training I had, but he was a desk jockey, not a field expert. He didn't stand a chance when the enemy struck." She squeezed my hand again and changed the subject.

After dinner, we wandered by some of the concession stands on our way to the dance pavilion and we stopped to buy Molly her showbag. The vendor had a Cinderella bag, which contained a blond wig and a blue ribbon headband, as well as glitter, long white satin gloves and a black velvet neck ribbon, off which hung, a tiny cameo of the fairytale princess.

Roza picked it up and grinned. "This is perfect. She's gonna love it." She reached into her jeans pocket for some money.

"Please let me get this, Roza. I'd really like to get Molly a gift." She hesitated to agree. "Please ..."

"Alright," she conceded. "You're going to be her hero even more than you are already, Comrade. You might need to take her on two dates."

I grinned as I handed $25 to the salesperson and he passed over the showbag. "I don't mind. She's a wonderful little girl and I already love her."

Roza blushed prettily. "Thanks. I think she's wonderful, too ... and she's easy to love, so I don't blame you."

"That she is. C'mon, it's nearly nine. The dance will be starting soon," I said.

As we walked along our fingers brushed, and by tacit agreement, we joined hands. I held hers firmly as we approached the venue, which was already crowded with carefree revelers ready to dance the night away. A bar was set up to one side selling beer, white wine and soda, as well as snack foods. A live country-rock band - the _Rocky Mountain Moonshine Band, _according to their banner - was tuning up on the stage. Bar tables and stools were dotted around the huge open-sided pavilion surrounding a large floating dance floor. Gas heaters dotted the area, and hay bales lined the boundaries where people could sit if there were no vacant tables.

As we stopped at the entrance to buy tickets, I saw Christian at the bar with Grant buying a round of drinks. I searched the seating area and found Lissa sitting beside Serena at a group of tables they'd commandeered for our party.

"My friends are here," I whispered to Roza. "Are you sure you don't mind joining them?"

She patted my chest reassuringly. "I told you it's fine, Comrade. I'm happy to meet your friends, and as long as you dance with me as much as I want, I'll be as contented as a kid in a candy store."

At that moment, Lissa spotted us and she waved us over frantically. A grin split her face from ear to ear when she glimpsed Roza on my arm, but as we moved closer, her face fell as the shock of actually _seeing_ Roza in the flesh for the first time in four years, actually hit her.

Roza noticed and stumbled as we walked. "What's wrong with her?" she whispered from the side of her mouth. I shrugged, having no real idea what to say to her.

"Mhm, perhaps you remind her of someone," I proposed.

Lissa slid off her bar stool and came around the table to greet us. Like most people in the room, she was dressed in figure hugging jeans, but instead of a shirt, she wore a fluffy pink sweater. She halted a few feet away and blatantly stared at Roza, looking for some type of recognition. Roza grew uncomfortable at the Queen's behavior and she fidgeted nervously beside me.

"Dimitri, good to see you again," said Christian as he clapped me on the shoulder when he returned from the bar.

He deposited the pitcher of light beer onto the table while Grant slid a tray of glasses beside it. Christian took hold of Lissa's hand and squeezed lightly to distract her. When that didn't wake her up he dug his nails into her skin, forcing her to break eye contact with Roza. Lissa gave her boyfriend a dirty look as she rubbed her hand, but I mouthed a grateful thank you. He nodded and his own wide-eyed gaze shifted to Roza.

"Roza, I'd like you to meet my friends and colleagues. These are Christian, Lissa, Grant and Serena," I introduced, pointing them out in turn. "Guys, this is Rosa Campbell."

"Um, hi," she said a little shyly, disconcerted by Lissa's earlier behavior. Her discomfort escalated when Lissa grinned crazily and continued to stare raptly at Roza. When the silence became uncomfortable, I was relieved when Serena stepped forward with an outstretched hand to break the impasse.

"Hi, Rosa, I'm Serena. It's nice to meet you."

Roza smiled and shook the other woman's hand. "Um, you too. Have you been having a good time at the festival?"

Serena grinned. "Yeah, it's been great fun. I see you've been buying a showbag. Me too," she said, pointing to three bags under the tables. "I think they're a great idea."

Christian noted the bag Roza held and smirked. "Do you have princess dreams? You're a bit old for that, aren't you?" he joked.

"Huh?" She looked down at her bag and giggled. "Oh, no, not me, but my daughter does. Prince Charming here is her date for Halloween." Roza gestured to me with her thumb. "She asked him earlier tonight."

"Going to wear a red jacket and a sword are you, Dimka?" asked Serena with sparkling eyes full of humor. "No cowboy costume for you, then, huh? And you've already got the _perfect_ coat to wear, too."

"Oh, God, yes. He loves that duster of his," Roza teased. "He wears it everywhere. I think he actually sleeps with it." I flushed and the others all laughed at my expense.

"Alright, alright." I helped Roza off with her jacket and pulled out a stool for her. "Pour the beer, will you, Grant."

As Serena returned to her seat opposite, I noticed that her upswept hair fully exposed her molnija marks. My eyes widened and I caught Grant's eye, gesturing to Serena's nape. He nodded and whispered in her ear as he sat beside her. She paled, reaching up and casually loosened her hair. I breathed a sigh of relief. First crisis averted.

Roza flicked her gaze away from Lissa, who was still tongue-tied and staring, and she jumped on the beer Grant passed her. She took a large swallow – I assumed for Dutch courage – before she faced Lissa head-on, opening with a standard getting-to-know-you question …

"So, Lissa, you work with Dimitri. Um, what do you do? Are you a bodyguard as well?"

Lissa eyes widened and her face paled until she was whiter than she normally was. "Erm …"

Christian laughed and saved the day. Second crisis averted. "Not Lissa. She's a Park Avenue Princess, but she's going to be my Queen, aren't you, babe?" Christian held up Lissa's left hand and flashed the enormous diamond ring on her engagement finger.

"You're engaged?! When did that happen?" I asked, genuinely happy for the younger couple.

Lissa blushed and said, "A few days ago. I had no idea he was going to propose … he totally surprised me."

"They're the best kind," Roza said, giving Christian and Lissa a friendly smile. "How'd he do it, Lissa?"

"Oh, um, he um, took me on a hot air balloon ride at sunset." She smiled lovingly at Christian. "We had dinner for two in the balloon with just our pilot and a server along for the ride. While I was admiring the sunset, dessert was served and this," (she pointed at her ring) "was sitting on top of my gateau."

Christian smiled and picked up the tale. "She screamed and bounced around so much, she rocked the basket. When she dived across the table to kiss me, I think she knocked ten years off the life of the pilot. He was paler than Lissa by the time we landed."

"Shut up," she said affectionately, blushing prettily.

"Very romantic, Christian," Roza said. "Best wishes and congratulations," she said charmingly. "I think this momentous occasion deserves a toast," Roza announced.

"Hear, hear," agreed Grant, Serena, and I.

Everyone raised their beer glasses and Roza spoke eloquently. "To Christian and Lissa, we all wish both of you a world of happiness and joy. May your love shine brighter and your companionship grow richer with each passing day. Congratulations on your engagement, we are so delighted for you!"

"To Christian and Lissa," we all caroled before clinking glasses and taking a swallow of beer. Lissa managed to beam with pleasure and look teary-eyed at the same time, while Christian thanked Roza for her kind words. At that moment, the band welcomed everyone to the festival and launched into their opening number – a cover of Luke Bryan's: 'Country Girl (Shake It For Me)'.

I held my hand out to Roza. "Shall we?"

"We shall," she said, hopping off her stool. "I must warn you, Comrade, I'm a pretty good dancer," she told me with a huge smile as I escorted her onto the dance floor, which was quickly filling up with other couples. I leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"So am I." With that declaration, I swung her into my arms and led her around the dance floor in a country swing two-step, adding turns, spins, twirls and dips in time to the music. When the dance ended, Roza threw her head back and laughed joyously as her chest heaved with breathlessness.

"You've been holding out on me, Comrade."

"You can't know all my secrets," I said, as I swung her around and into my arms for the next dance.

I saw Christian and Lissa join the dance floor. The couple didn't know the two-step (rather they knew a formal waltz), but they managed to improvise creditably and by the end of their second dance together, they'd begun to loosen up. We returned to the table for a quick break and while Roza and Christian went to the bar for another pitcher of beer, Lissa told Grant and Serena that they should join the dancing on the next round.

"I expect you to have a good time," she hissed at her guardians. "No sitting around looking stern and stoic. You can keep an eye on us on the dance floor just as easily as you can from the table. Easier probably," she added.

I saw Grant and Serena hesitate as they cast their eyes worriedly around the pavilion, but ultimately, they chose not to ignore a direct order from the Queen when the danger to their charges was minimal. In the end, they danced some of the time and sat out the rest of the time, and that seemed to satisfy Lissa. When Roza and Christian returned, Roza excused herself to go to the restroom and I nodded discreetly at Serena to go with her. Lissa took the opportunity to refresh herself and went with them.

Immediately, Christian gave me the third degree, speaking quietly. With our enhanced moroi and dhampir hearing, there was no need to shout over the music.

"Christ almighty, Dimitri, she's Rose and yet she's not. She truly has no idea who any of us are, does she?"

I sipped moderately at my light beer, since technically, I was still on duty. "None whatsoever," I answered candidly.

"How are you coping?" asked Grant as he sipped his own drink. He knew of my former (illegal) relationship with Roza, and he'd helped me with some inquiries while I'd actively searched for her.

"It was difficult at first, but as I got to know her again, I realized that she's still Rose Hathaway at the core, she just doesn't remember her," I told them. "I thought Lissa was going to ruin everything when she stared at her like that," I said to Christian.

He raked his hand through his hair and exhaled roughly. "Yes, so did I. For the past week, all she could talk about was Rose remembering her as soon as they met again. No matter what I said or what Doctor Olendzki told her about brain injuries and amnesia, she refused to believe that Rose _wouldn't_ remember her best friend."

I paused with a handful of nuts halfway to my mouth. "She didn't tell Doctor Olendzki about Rose, did she?"

"No, no," said Christian quickly, "nothing like that. She kept her inquiries discreet and told her not to mention her questions to anyone else."

"What did Doctor Olendzki say?" I asked curiously.

Christian sighed. "That the longer an amnesiac went without recovering his or her memories, then the chances of them returning at all were slim." Christian hesitated and then said, "Um, Lissa asked the good doctor whether a person with long-term amnesia could be 'cured'," he told me, using air quotes for emphasis.

I choked on a nut and I had to chase it down with a mouthful of beer. I gestured to a circulating server and asked for a pitcher of ice water and six glasses. "What was the doctor's opinion?" I asked Christian when she was out of earshot.

"She said that in normal circumstances, no, but then again, a spirit user has never attempted a healing on an amnesia patient before, so she wasn't sure what might happen. She did say that she thought the chances of recovery for a long-term amnesiac weren't good, since the brain injury had healed on its own. _If_ a spirit user completed a healing immediately after the injury occurred, then there could be a different outcome."

I was alarmed by what Christian was telling me. Knowing Lissa – her kind heart and intense desire to regain her best friend – I was afraid she might try to 'heal' Rose without her consent. Furthermore, without a doctor in attendance, a healing on someone who was no longer technically 'injured' might have adverse affects or unintended consequences.

"You can't allow her to do that, Christian," I said urgently.

His expression was frustrated. "I've told her that, but you know how Lissa is, especially when it concerns Rose. She won't listen to me," he disclosed reluctantly.

"Well, maybe she'll listen to me … or Abe." We dropped the discussion as our dates returned. Roza and I hit the dance floor for the next four songs, before returning to the table for another break.

"Maybe you should take off your jacket," Roza suggested, as I wiped sweat from my forehead with a spare paper napkin.

"Can't," I told her quietly, "I'm armed. I wouldn't want to alarm the good people of Whitefish."

She scoffed. "None of them would bat an eyelash, Comrade. We're in the country. People carry weapons here all the time."

"Perhaps they do, but not openly at a dance or in the street." I leaned down to kiss her mouth. "Now, drop it, Roza. I'm _not_ removing my jacket."

As our group chatted amicably, I saw Petra Stewart approach with the young man who'd been gazing at Roza affectionately the previous Sunday. Immediately, my hackles grew as he smiled and waved at Roza. I still didn't like the cowboy. He had big teeth.

"Rosa!" Petra sang as she came around the table to hug her. "I didn't know you were coming to the dance? If I had, James and I could have joined you," Petra said as she noted with a fleeting hint of irritation, just how closely Roza and I had been sitting next to each other.

"It was last minute," Roza replied, standing up to embrace the cowboy. "James, it's been awhile. How are you?"

He leaned down to kiss her cheek, close by to her lips and I barely restrained a loud growl of protest, instead keeping it low under my breath. Roza still heard me and jabbed me in the gut with her elbow.

"I've been great, Rosa. I saw you at church last week, but you were talking to the minister. I didn't want to interrupt you and then I saw you join your … _friend_," he said jealously, jerking his head in my direction. Roza's eyebrows quirked, but she didn't comment on James' possessive remark.

"You could have come over to say hello, James," she chided.

Roza introduced everyone and sat down. Immediately, Petra pulled over a vacant stool from an adjacent table and monopolized the conversation. Roza struggled to include Lissa and Serena in the discussion, but Petra was tenacious and despite Roza's efforts, she rudely persisted in ignoring the other women.

The longer Petra excluded Lissa, the angrier she became, and after a while she was glaring openly at her doppelganger. Her eyes grew stormy and deepened in color to olive green as the darkness built within her. Christian noticed and his face paled as he anticipated something happening that wouldn't be good. He abruptly reared to his feet and grabbed Lissa's wrist.

"Let's dance!" he said, jerking her off her stool.

"In a minute," she hissed turning her livid and intensely jealous gaze back on Petra.

I saw Lissa's eyes focus on the glass of beer and bowl of nuts in front of the selfish girl and before we could stop her, the glass 'appeared' to tip over onto the nut bowl. I groaned. Lissa used water magic to force the beer from the glass and it exploded all over Petra's face and hair. She then used telekinesis - an aspect of spirit - to fling the nuts at Petra's chest. Most of them made their way into the woman's low-cut sweater to settle in her padded bra.

Petra sprang to her feet, screaming shrilly, as beer dripped off her nose and into her cleavage. Lissa grinned, tremendously pleased with her magic, and Christian hurried her off before anyone noticed. I jerked my head at Grant, indicating he and Serena should follow the Royals. As I surveyed the chaos, Roza struggled to calm an hysterical Petra, while James snickered as he snapped pictures of his date with a smartphone camera. Something told me they'd be popular pics on Facebook. And I … well, I just rolled my eyes at how the night had ended.

"I think the date is over," I muttered.

* * *

**Rosa's POV**

We left the dance pavilion a half hour after Petra had been attacked by nuts and beer. I was a little ashamed to admit it, since Petra was my friend, but it had been hilariously funny and Petra had deserved it. I'd never known her to behave so pettily, but ever since Dimitri had given her the cold shoulder, she'd been less than friendly and she hadn't been around at all this past week.

It was also somewhat strange how alike in appearance Petra and Lissa were. Dimitri swore on the walk back to the car that Lissa was normally very welcoming, social and vivacious – a lot like Petra. Regardless, it had taken me a while to warm up to Lissa. Her strange behavior when we'd first met had been a little off-putting, what with the way she'd stared at me as if she'd seen a ghost or something.

The other two couples were strolling distantly behind us as we returned to our cars. Grant had told us before we left the bar that they were parked in the same parking lot as we were.

"I'm sorry about Petra," I said quietly, as hand-in-hand we strolled along the festival midway. Many of the vendors were shutting down as the time neared midnight, and most attendees were heading home after a long evening.

"It wasn't your fault, Roza and you shouldn't apologize or make excuses for other people. She's responsible for her own actions."

"Does that also apply to Lissa?" I asked, as I looked up at him. He looked startled by my question for a moment.

"What do you mean? Did something happen?" he asked worriedly. He turned his head to glance back at Lissa and Christian.

I shrugged. "Well, the way she stared at me when we first met was strange, don't you think?"

"Ahm, I think you just reminded her of somebody she used to know."

"Hmm, Lissa said that when we went to the bathroom. She told me that she lost her best friend several years ago and I look a lot like her."

"You see … a logical explanation."

"Maybe," I said, dropping the topic.

As we approached the car, a sick feeling began to churn in my stomach. I stopped suddenly and clutched at my belly.

"Roza, what's wrong?!" Dimitri asked me urgently.

I swallowed the acid taste of bile filling my mouth as sweat broke out across my forehead. "I don't know," I gasped. "I feel violently ill all of a sudden."

Dimitri froze and looked around, focusing on two men in the distance. They looked strange to me … not quite normal. Whatever Dimitri noticed about them, it seemed to terrify him. He pulled the keyless remote from his pocket to unlock the Escalade as he rushed me toward it, but the sickness overwhelmed me, slowing us down. He turned to the other two couples who were parked three vehicles over and yelled a word: _Buria_. Before I could determine what was happening, Dimitri scooped me into his arms and rushed me to the car, flinging me inside it.

"Lock the doors and stay in the car!"

"What? What's wrong?" I asked, suddenly afraid.

"Just do as I say, Roza. Promise me!"

I nodded. "O-okay."

As soon as I pressed the central locking button, Dimitri took off faster than I'd ever seen him move before and I turned around in my seat to watch what was happening through the rear window. What I saw, I couldn't believe and I blinked rapidly to clear what I felt certain must have been blurred vision. I blinked again and focused on Dimitri and Grant who were fighting the two strange men who'd appeared out of nowhere. They were incredibly strong and very fast, almost too fast for my eyes to follow.

Swallowing nervously, I climbed between the two front seats and into the rear passenger row for a better vantage point. Dimitri and Grant held what looked like long knives in their hands as they battled for supremacy over their assailants. I gasped as one of them threw Grant against a car. He was stunned by the impact, but he shook it off and dived back into the fray. Almost unconsciously, I once again climbed between the seats and into the baggage area at the rear of the Escalade. I crawled up to the rear window, shaking with terror as the sickness still churned in my stomach.

Lifting my head slowly, I peeked out the window and gasped. Dimitri was right in front of me, slashing at his assailant with the knife … no, not a knife … a stake. A silver stake. What the fuck? I ducked my head and then I popped up again, my gaze riveted on what was taking place in front of me. It was like passing by a train wreck or a car crash … you knew it was wrong to stare, but you just couldn't help yourself.

I watched with my mouth open as Dimitri kicked and punched at the man who just wouldn't stay down no matter how many times he was pounded on. For every strike Dimitri made, the man returned one twice as hard. I heard Lissa's muffled screaming from three cars away and it inexplicably grated on my nerves. _Jesus Christ_, she had a loud, piercing voice. She reminded me of Maili, except my daughter was three and Lissa was in her twenties. My head began to pound with one of my headaches and I couldn't bear to listen to her any longer.

"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed in her direction. She almost immediately quieted. "Thank the Lord for small mercies," I muttered as I focused on the fight still raging outside the window.

Dimitri slashed at the man's face with his stake, and I kind of shrieked when he drew blood across his cheek. The man roared with pain and stepped back momentarily to regroup. Dimitri used the opportunity to check on me through the rear window and I imagined for a moment that he could actually _see_ me, but that was impossible in the dark night with no streetlamps and dark tinted windows. The man came running toward Dimitri again, and this time I screamed loudly and pointed.

"Watch out, Comrade!"

Dimitri tore his gaze from where I crouched and raised his stake toward the man, but he tackled Dimitri around the waist and they both slammed against the rear of the car I was in. The impact cracked the window and I gasped. Dimitri held his left forearm against the throat of the man whose face he'd slashed only moments ago, but there was no sign of any injury on him. What? That's not possible is it? How could someone heal in mere seconds? The man grappled with Dimitri, evading the hand wielding the deadly stake as he pressed Dimitri against the window. The man's mouth opened wide, and as he moved toward Dimitri's exposed throat, I glimpsed his wickedly long fangs dripping with saliva.

I screamed and the man … creature shifted his attention to me, leaning closer to peer through the window. His eyes glowed red and I gulped. I felt an urgent need to pee from sheer terror, but I refused to disgrace myself in such a way, and forced back the inconvenient sensation. The creature's momentary distraction was all Dimitri needed to bring his stake hand up and plunge it into the vampire's chest. Another scream caught in my throat. The vampire stopped fighting and fell to the ground and as he did, Dimitri pulled the blood-coated stake from his chest. He looked back at me one more time, before he jumped into the fray that Grant was still fighting with yet another vampire, and between the two of them, they finished him off in the same way Dimitri had just moments earlier – with a stake through the heart.

Abruptly, there was silence. The silence seemed to move around me, around everything, as if it were alive and moving in slow motion. As I crouched there disconnected and dazed, my brain struggled to comprehend what my eyes had witnessed.

Vampires _really_ existed.

The pounding in my head escalated rapidly to an excruciating level and I began to hyperventilate. As I gasped for oxygen, I screamed and pounded my clenched fists against the rear window. I only wanted to escape from the waking nightmare. My last coherent image before I passed out, was of Dimitri wrenching open the rear door of the Escalade.

…

A/N: Thanks for reading. Please leave me a review.

Who wants to join Dimitri in the tub?!

Who wants to dance all night in Dimitri's arms?!

In case you're wondering, Rosa likes the same authors I do.

I made up the name of the band at the street festival: _Rocky Mountain Moonshine Band. _As far as I know, there isn't a band in Montana with that name.

Excerpts from Roza's engagement toast to Lissa and Christian were taken from engagementexperts dot com

I don't know if fairs etc in America sell showbags, but they are sold at nearly all fairs, trade shows and festivals in Australia. They are bags of goodies ranging in price from a few dollars to perhaps $50, depending on what's in them.

Next chapter: The dinner party that was supposed to take place in chapter 10 happens, and Rose grapples with a truth she never imagined.


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